


Love and Obsession

by Luthienberen



Series: Destinies Entwined [1]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Community: grimm_exchange, First Time, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bond, Supernatural Elements, relationship!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick faces a Wesen that induces so much terror that other Wesen would rather face a Grimm. In an attempt to try and discover a way to stop their new foe, Monroe goes undercover while in the meantime Rosalee and Bud undertake their own research. </p><p>The odds aren’t in their favour and as Nick discovers there truly are more things in Heaven and Earth than he had ever dreamed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Obsession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silva_draconis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silva_draconis/gifts).



> This was written for the December 2012 grimm_exchange gift challenge on Dreamwidth for silva_draconis. Beta-read by rae_fa – Thank you for your wonderful & indispensable help!
> 
> This is a Season 1 AU before the ‘Woman in Black’.
> 
> _Please note the 'Supernatural Elements' tag as I know this may not be a common tag._

 

**X X X X X**  
  


The man scrabbled at the window, fingers slipping in his own sweat as he tried desperately to open the thick glass. The wood sill flaked under his nails causing him to wince as the splinters dug into vulnerable flesh.

As he worked on the latching, the man was aware of the oppressive silence that lay over the room. In this unnatural hush his harsh breathing resounded like thunder and the straining of wood underneath his fingers was akin to the deafening crash of trees falling.

Sweat glistened at his temples causing his hair to cling messily to the damp skin. He shook from the exertion of attempting to pry the window open and from the fear that pumped through his veins as blood, yet he pressed on with his efforts, until his entire world narrowed down into this one task: escape.

He spared only enough of his energy to listen for any disturbance outside the room. He didn’t have long until his friend returned and it was imperative that he fled before that happened.

His friend…The man squeezed his eyes shut against the threatening flood of tears.

How could he have misjudged so poorly? How could he have believed that his friend was anyone – any _thing_ – normal? Yet could he be blamed? They had shared so much laughter, so much pleasure and sought so much comfort in each other that any blemish of there being something off was swiftly swept aside in favour of ignorance fuelled bliss.

Now, upon bitter reflection, the man admitted to himself that there had indeed been moments when an aura of nastiness had enshrouded certain words from his friend’s mouth or when a peculiar perverseness pervaded his friend’s activities. _No, ours,_ thought the man, the admission twisting his gut with shame.

Why hadn’t he heeded the warnings of his loved ones? Now it might be too late, for not only had his companion shared what he was, but what he wished them to do to cement their new found revelation.

The minute his friend discovered that he did not labour under the same illusion of desiring the same thing…yeah, there was no chance of…of…

The man bit his lip, drawing blood. He remembered the flash of colour that had transformed his companion’s eyes completely, the manner in which the features had utterly changed to something so different that it had almost torn his reason from him.

What his friend was, by his - its? - very nature would demand payment – in the man’s blood.

His friend had left him for a few scant minutes to ‘excitedly’ prepare for what he had in mind, to bring them ‘closer together’.

There was no chance in hell that the man was sticking around. What had transpired had shaken him to the core and what the future promised was all sorts of wrong.

However, his task was made more strenuous by the fact that he had been trying for so long that his fingers were slipping in his own sweat…and blood. So driven by his passion to flee the man hardly noticed his torn finger pads.

The creak of a floorboard made the man stop, breath catching in his lungs. Despair sliced through his soul.

 _Please no_ was the chant that marched immediately through his mind. Breathless, he paused, ears straining.

Laughter reverberated in the distance but there were no footsteps. The man wiped his face leaving streaks of blood and resisted the urge to sob. He felt that he was going mad.

Trembling, he re-doubled his efforts. He only had the dim light of a side-lamp and the half-moon hanging in the night sky to illuminate his work. He had been too afraid to switch on the main light in case it roused suspicion from the other occupants in the house.

Suddenly the latching gave way and the window popped a mere few centimetres. Hardly believing his luck the man shoved the window the rest of the way open as quietly as possible. Rising he winced at the ache in his knees and at the flares of agony from his hands. Staring down he was horrified to espy the mess that were his fingers.

_Shit._

Still…tough luck. He had no choice but to continue. Glancing around the man darted to the chest of drawers, yanking open the topmost compartment and snatching two cravats from the many he knew his friend kept. He wished he knew where his shoes were, but in the course of the evening he had removed them so he could relax properly, even shucking his socks when they had moved to the comfort of lounging in the rather warm bedroom and now his friend had stashed them somewhere out of sight. He had no time to search.

Wrapping the silken cravats hastily around his ruined fingers he hurried to the window and swung a leg over. He was not exactly in the best shape for this type of boys’ own adventure, but he had no choice if he wished to live.

Somehow he managed to wait instead of instantly jumping out. He peered into the night trying to see if anything lurked in the deep shadows. He could see nothing, though that didn’t mean more of his friend’s kind weren’t hiding in the darkness.

It was not a pleasant thought, but his fear of what awaited him within was more powerful than what might possibly await outside.

Swallowing and praying in thanks that his friend’s room was on the ground floor, the man heaved himself over the sill. He landed with a stumble in the thick foliage that grew around the house.

Thorns tore at his jacket, easily ripping the material. He had managed to cover his face as he jumped, to protect the delicate skin. However, his feet were not so lucky; the thorns ripping his flesh. No longer caring, the man yanked himself to his feet and began limping away from the house. He knew he had to reach a populated street or he stood not a chance.

Unfortunately, the house he had escaped from was on the outskirts of Portland and he lamented the day that he had decided that this was a good thing instead of a fucking excellent location for murder – and getting away with it.

As he limped down the street he stuck close to the tall trees, which flanked either side of the street. The road may have been easier to walk or run along being smoother than the rough uneven surface of the pavement that bore up under his aching legs, but the man did not even consider the option for a second.

For the moon’s beams fell along the long stretch of asphalt casting eerie blue-grey shadows. With his soul already aflame with anguish at what he had witnessed that night, the moon’s glow resembled more the cold cruel light of hell rather than the wondrous illumination from a heavenly object to the man. So he steered clear and skirted past the few scattered houses that also rested on this street.

Seeking aid from them would do no good – others from the house he escaped from actually lived in them.

Just then a yell rose in the distance and the man allowed himself to whimper. The hunt was on.

Terrified now beyond all consideration of his physical well-being the man pushed himself to run, to jog… _anything_ as long as it got him away from his friend.

Pavement slapped under his bare feet, the impact vibrating through his legs, each echo agony.

He turned into a long empty street stumbling down it in a mire of greyish pain and terror. He heard no sign of pursuit, but didn’t trust this to mean that his friend wasn’t actually after him.

Who knew what powers his friend possessed?

Shaking, breath whistling in and out of his lungs, the man cursed the fact he hadn’t exercised harder.

Not that mere running would save him.

A rumble shattered the night and the man’s heart leapt. A car! Hope flared and the man altered direction, heading where he had heard the noise. He crossed the silent road and cut through a stand of trees that blocked the other road from sight. Branches snapped at him, slowing his progress but he grimly continued.

The crunch of twigs and leaf litter behind him was enough to compel him onwards even as his heart thundered in his chest. Each breath was more painful than the last, as if he was swallowing needles.

His heart was swollen with his effort, slamming against his rib-cage with each and every step he took.

Then he was staggering through the treeline and into the road.

His hope died.

His friend was standing in front of him.

Tears flowed down his cheeks as despair seized him. No. Not now when he was so close! He couldn’t speak he was so distraught and drained by his flight. His heart hammered away, boiling away in his chest.

His friend raised his hands. “Why did you run?”

He sounded genuinely baffled and the man weakly fell to his knees, gasping at the insanity of it all.

“I don’t mean to hurt you. Why did you run? Did my visage frighten you so much?”

It was grotesque in a way, in the manner his friend painted rejection. Could the creature that his friend was feel such a mundane emotion?

Dazed with pain the man stared back at his friend and watched as his friend’s eyes changed, swallowing the pupils and becoming one endless sea of colour.

His mind reared away from the terrifying sight, wishing to reject what he was seeing yet again. Yet he had no such luck for what he had been taught as a child was too strong to deny the existence of his friend’s kind.

Instead the man’s soul was consumed by the horror of what was revealed before him. There was no space for reasoning or logic in the black abyss of his thoughts.

His friend stepped forward hands outstretched in a mockery of assisting him to his feet.

The man spotted headlights and without thinking burst to his feet shocking his friend who had thought him incapable of movement.

“No! Wait!”

The scream of his friend was drowned by the screech of car tires as the man fell into the road, anxiously trying to reach the car.

He managed as the vehicle slid, brakes howling.

Dimly the man heard his friend roar then his entire body was encased in a living pillar of torment, which lasted only a moment before the material world receded.

**X**

Nick glanced up as he heard a thump. His gaze focused on his friend who was sitting in a chair drawn close to an extremely cluttered table. Currently, Monroe bore a disbelieving expression as he glared in annoyance at a particular book.

“What’s the matter Monroe? Found something gross…again?” Seriously, Nick couldn’t believe how many horrible depictions, let alone descriptions littered his ancestors’ works. Sometimes less was more and Nick would dearly have loved it if his aunt and the rest of his kin had been more vague  – or even poetic at a pinch – in their re-tellings of certain gruesome Wesen and their deeds.

Take now for instance: Nick wasn’t sure if he wished to know what had placed that picture of ‘really?’ on Monroe’s face or the aura of frustration…wait frustration?

“Monroe?”

Monroe looked his way and Nick blinked at the incredulity in the brown eyes. “Nothing disgusting…well, okay, maybe a little, but nothing you haven’t come across already.” Monroe waved his free hand at the discarded tome; his other hand still clutched a fountain pen.

“I know Grimms don’t have any fondness for Blutbaden, but honestly Nick? Half the stuff in this record is hyperbole and the other half is sick. I get it, my kind really was the big bad wolf for a long time, but we’ve _changed_. It would be nice if that was recognised. It’s not as if Wieder Blutbaden are a new phenomenon.”

Nick knew it wasn’t appropriate to laugh, but he couldn’t squash the chuckle from bubbling out. “Sorry Monroe,” he gasped at Monroe’s intensified glare. “I sympathise, you know I do, but I doubt that any Grimm before me got close enough to a friendly Blutbad to discover the truth.”

Monroe grunted. Nick put down the papers he had been holding and stepped away from Aunt Marie’s – no his – weapons cupboard. He padded over to Monroe and awkwardly clapped a hand onto Monroe’s shoulder.

“Hey. Why do you think I gave you the job of reviewing all my books?” Nick nodded towards the table strewn with papers, files, journals, clippings, photographs, drawings, etchings and who knows what else.

Monroe snorted, but there was no malice in his words when he said: “Because you have an aversion of me dictating to you?”

Nick squeezed Monroe’s shoulder as hard as he could. “Hilarious Monroe. No, actually it is so you can amend the records, _not_ just because you have vast wells of knowledge I don’t-” Nick added quickly at Monroe starting to open his mouth, “but also so you can set the record straight.”

His friend’s rightful irritation vanished. Monroe’s eyes sparkled in the bright lights of the trailer, turning the brown into shimmering pools.

“I’m amazed you trusted me with altering and adding to your Grimm library. It’s like handling a piece of ancient history that is still a living breathing monster that could devour me if I’m not careful. Quite fun truthfully.”

Nick laughed. “Yeah, your idea of fun is twisted Monroe.”

“Grimms who chop off Reaper heads shouldn’t judge.”

“I recall you had something to do with that affair.”

Monroe relaxed in his seat. “Hmmm…Wieder Blutbaden never tell of their exploits.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Sure Monroe. As long as you spill the beans in my – our – books you can maintain the Blutbad hush hush pact.”

“Our…?”

Nick froze at the question and amazement in Monroe’s voice. He met Monroe’s stare and swallowed against the open, searching look the Blutbad was giving him. Nick suddenly felt more vulnerable and broken in a way he hadn’t experienced in months, not since Juliette had walked away.

What he had said in a fleeting moment was true: Nick considered this trailer Monroe’s as much as his. For goodness sake, they both spent far more time here than was healthy, pouring over the old notes and prodding the various colourful and occasionally colourless potions stored in glass or crystal bottles.

How many times had Nick called Monroe with a new surprise, a new toy to play with? Nick had lost count of the moments when Monroe had either phoned him excitedly or jumped him with a fervent gleam in his eyes when Nick swung by Monroe’s place with a new piece of information or fresh idea…or the hours spent in cafés figuring things out or just ‘hanging’ quietly.

Yeah…Grimm and Wesen who went tumbling through the green forests of Portland, crying war and honing the arts of stealth and defence until they knew each other as wellas _,_ if not better than themselves, could hardly shy away from sharing other facets of their lives equally.

Nick was embarrassed, face flushed and mind panicking. Nick knew that in a second he would ruin everything and the fear of offending Monroe and losing his friend as stupid as it sounded was enough for Nick to force himself to speak, if only in a joking sort of manner.

“Um…yes Monroe. I gave you a key to my trailer remember? Pretty much means that everything in here is as good as yours.” Nick shifted on his feet. Affectionate exchanges between friends was not his forte or anything he had truly experienced in his life.

Juliette had been the nearest thing to a confidante and that was entirely different from two men sharing a close friendship.

“I…” Sweat made Nick’s hand clammy on Monroe’s shoulder, the fabric becoming uncomfortably damp. Monroe thankfully didn’t say anything. “I trust you. You’re my friend.”

The confession was worth the major grin he received and the clasp of Monroe’s free hand over Nick’s hand that was clenched on the clock-maker’s shoulder.

“Thanks Nick. I appreciate it.” Monroe bit at his bottom lip. “I trust you too and uh…you’re my friend just as much. I let you sleep in my house after all.”

Nick nodded, eyes not wavering from Monroe’s suddenly red irises. “True.”

The back of Nick’s shirt was damp, tendrils of sweat gluing the cloth to his feverish skin. Why was it so hot in the trailer?

 _I should open a window_ , mused Nick _._  

Monroe’s fingers were tight on his own, calloused fingers rough and damn if the Blutbad was like a furnace. Nick was conscious of how ragged his breathing had become and he watched in fascination as Monroe’s mouth fell open echoing his erratic inhales and exhales.

The tension was palpable and flummoxed Nick. He was unsure why this was happening and wished that his detective skills were useful for once in an area of his life not immediately concerned with criminal Wesen and human activities.

“Right…I should get back to this.” Monroe’s stutter was like a gunshot in the crowded interior of the trailer.

Nick startled. “What?” Nick winced. That had been louder than he intended.

Monroe was clearly uncomfortable. “I need to finish correcting this appalling travesty of a record and you should return to your indexing.”

Nick wanted to laugh hysterically for a reason he knew not. Monroe was so painfully obvious when trying to dissolve tension or a scene which had involved more feelings than the participants knew what to do with.

“Okay. I swear Monroe it’s as if I let a child get their hands on a treasure chest of candy.”

Monroe gestured with the fountain pen (so much better than a silly biro he had sniped at Nick). “You mean your own personal slave Nick.”

“Shouldn’t I receive a cup of coffee then?”

Monroe growled, dropping his hand and shoved Nick gently, dislodging Nick’s grip. Nick missed the hold straight away. “Just continue on oh wise and marvellous Grimm.”

Nick pushed back at Monroe’s shoulder, mostly because he missed his friend’s touch. “You’re obsessed with me cataloguing my weapons cabinet.”

Monroe shook his head, raking a hand through his dark brown hair. “Right Nick. It is a terrible, irredeemable tragedy when your _friend_ wants the best for you. Just how are you supposed to defend yourself if you don’t actually know what’s in there and what it’s intended for? The whole ‘waiting for something to pop up and then interrogate Monroe or Rosalee angle won’t work in your favour forever you do realise?”

Walking back over to his cabinet Nick threw out over his shoulder. “Once upon a time there was a saying: ‘if it isn’t broke don’t fix it’. Or in modern speak: it has worked so far so why tempt fate by indexing the frankly weird stuff in our trailer?”

“Crap, killing those reapers has made you insufferable.”

Nick smirked. “Yet you stick around.”

“Cleary because I’m mad too, I chopped off one of their heads as well. Always thought Reapers carried disease.”

Before Nick could reply his cell rang shrilly.

“Shit.” The clatter of pen and ruffling of papers joined the incessant ringtone. “We’ve got to change your damn cell tone. It is like having claws rake my brain.”

Nick dashed over, joining the search. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Monroe gave up the search on the table and darted across to the bed crammed in the corner. He plunged his hands into Nick’s jacket that was draped over the silk (honest!) covers. “New rule Nick,” Monroe muttered as he now frantically rifled through Nick’s coat, “keep your cell in your jeans pocket or hand it to me okay?”

“Brilliant Monroe. I’m sure to obey once we’ve found the damn-ah!” Nick triumphantly fished his cell from under a huge sheaf of documents.

“Burkhardt,” he said into the now blissfully silent cell.

“Nick,” Hank’s voice answered. “We’ve been called out. A car accident this time.”

**X**

A light patter of rain had started up by the time Monroe pulled up to the curb. He glanced over at his passenger with a raised eyebrow.

“This is as far as your personal taxi service goes Nick.”

Nick turned to face him, grey eyes wide. “We’re still a street away Monroe.”

“Yeah we are. But let me ask you this man, does Hank know about us?”

Nick grinned. “Us? Didn’t know we were dating.”

Monroe sighed. He swore that Nick tried his patience on purpose. “You know what I mean. Does Hank know that you’re friends with someone once accused of kidnapping a little girl?”

“No.” Nick slumped back in his seat a pensive expression playing over his features.

“Look, I don’t mind being a secret. I mean most of life recently since I turned Wieder has been about lying low, not being noticed, so this? This friendship of ours? It’s as unconventional as it is: clock-maker and cop, prior suspect and accusing officer and let’s be frank Nick, the only thing that explains why we did become friends is the whole Blutbad/Grimm aspect. Not something you can exactly share.”

It was obvious that Nick was less than thrilled with Monroe’s brutal if honest assessment. “I’m tired of constantly hiding vast areas of my life Monroe. And I’m sure we could come up with a viable option if we – I – did tell Hank about you. He has met you since the first case we all came clashing together.”

“True…hey, did he really fall for our routine? We were terrible at pretending not to know each other.”

“Wh-”

“No, Nick, not ‘what do you mean’, I almost gave it away and then you rather painstakingly obviously wondered aloud where my cups were…and found them straight away. Thank goodness he was distracted by being stalked by a Siegbarste.”

Nick sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, we were lucky, but I think we’ll have to say something. I do spend huge chunks of my time with you. Hank is beginning to query where I am since I’m hardly at my apartment anymore.”

“I’m not even sure why you rent that place, you’re at my house so often that I’m beginning to suspect that a Wesen won’t have to actually enter to know a Grimm hangs about. They’ll just sniff your scent before even reaching my mailbox.”

Monroe frowned as something had occurred to him. “Hank hasn’t spoken to Juliette has he?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because one the things she reproached you of, bar the whole insanity angle when you tried telling her of Wesen, was of the amount of time you um…spent with me, which I’m sorry I didn’t cover up too well.”

Nick looked out the windscreen, watching the rain slide down the glass. “Yeah…after that first dinner it sort of fell apart. I just couldn’t tell her why I had to run off with you so frequently.”

Monroe squeezed the steering wheel. “I told you man, I don’t understand normal relationships, but I can guess that trying to say the reason you hang out with me the majority of the time is because the supernatural exists…”

Nick’s hiss was sharp. “It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to Monroe, but a ‘told you so’ is still not appreciated.”

Monroe reached out, hauling Nick around in his seat to face him, ignoring the anger in his friend’s dark expression. “I’m not saying that…well, not meaning to anyway. Listen Nick, what I’m trying to say here is that, tell Hank if you want, but be careful. Lies thrown in with the truth destroyed what you had with Juliette, which I’m partly to blame for-”

Nick shook his head abruptly. “No, you’re not.”

Monroe smiled wanly. “Sure Nick. But perhaps tread cautiously with your partner. One person in your life did not react well to a mere mention of the supernatural being real, before you even managed to get to Wesen, so don’t use that line straight away or at all with Hank. You don’t want to lose someone else from your life.”

The angry look faded from his friend. Monroe relaxed slightly.

“Okay Monroe, I’ll be careful, but I will tell Hank about you. I have to. It is becoming too hard to live a lie.”

Nick opened his door, but as he slipped out he twisted back once more, voice earnest. “Just remember Monroe I chose you once and I will again.”

_What the fuck?_

“Hey, what do you mean by that?” Monroe called after Nick who didn’t respond just waved and jogged off into the wet night.

**X**

Nick ducked under the police tape that already cordoned off the lonely stretch of road, nodding to the officer on duty. An ambulance still sat on the far side. In the opening perched a distraught young woman who was talking to a paramedic with a police officer present.

The area was flooded with lights. Various people milled around trying to capture any last pieces of evidence before the rain washed it away.

Seeing Hank standing beside Wu only a hundred yards off Nick sprinted over.

“Hey Hank. What happened? Why have we been called to a car accident site?”

“Hello Nick,” Hank answered. He was huddled in his coat looking weary. “And that’s a good question. We’re here because of Miss Lockmore’s statement.” The taller detective inclined his head to the young lady sitting in the ambulance.

Wu picked up the thread. “The gist is that Miss Lockmore said she was driving along at the speed limit when out of nowhere a man appears. It being very dark and how quickly he literally – and get this Nick – _dove right in front of her car_ she barely had time to apply her brakes to slow the car down. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough and she still hit him.”

Hank shook his head. “She’s really broken up Nick. Miss Lockmore said that she was too shocked to move at first, not surprising under the circumstances, before she got out of her car. When she reached him he was already no longer breathing.”

Nick blinked. “So? I admit it was odd that he ran right out in front of her car, but it sounds like suicide really.”

Wu snorted. “Right up until the young lady glanced up and saw the other man.”

“Other man?”

“Yes, he was standing back against the trees. The moon was bright at that moment and Miss Lockmore said he was really there.”

“It couldn’t be the shock?”

“I considered that,” remarked Hank, “but a couple of us have checked the location our witness says he stood and the soil there is disturbed. Footprints that match our deceased and shoeprints that are obviously not his.”

Nick frowned, mind churning over the facts so far. “What did this man do next?”

Wu cleared his throat. “Ah…this is where it becomes even more interesting. Apparently our mystery man simply takes one step back and vanishes.”

“Vanishes?” _Crap. Please don’t be a Wesen._

“Yeah,” confirmed Wu. “Vanishes. Not into the woods but right in front of her eyes. Miss Lockmore insists it was if the night and he just flowed together and became nothingness.”

Nick’s mouth went dry. “Did Miss Lockmore say anything else? What he looked like?”

Hank’s voice took on a note of uneasiness. “Miss Lockmore described him as being tall, handsome – devilishly so – muscular, longish hair and green eyes.”

Nick blinked. “Excuse me? Even with the moon and her headlights, there is no way that Miss Lockmore could see the colour of this stranger’s eyes.”

“Yup,” injected Wu, “not a chance Nick. Yet she gives her word that she saw his eyes shine iridescent green.”

Nick glanced towards Hank and saw how pale his friend was and the fine sweat on his brow. Hank saw him watching and said, “It may have been a trick of the light but in all other respects she is a reliable witness: the footprints prove her correct and Miss Lockmore is a long-serving veterinary nurse at a reputable surgery. She probably snatched a glimpse of his eyes when maybe a stray beam of light fell on them. That makes sense.”

Hank’s anxiety was a knife wound to Nick. He berated himself for not alleviating Hank’s worries. By trying to bury the truth from his partner he was slowly driving Hank mad from being unable to explain or process what he had seen.

“Sounds about right,” agreed Nick even as Wu shot them both ‘what drug are you taking?” expression. He had to do something and this small platitude was all Nick had time to give.

Hank still seemed unsettled but said nothing to contradict Nick. Instead he shook himself and pressed on. “At any rate we have ID’ed the victim: a Stefan Kwiatkowski.” 

“That’s some name there.”

“Try pronouncing it Nick,” replied Hank sourly.

“To give you a laugh? I noticed you spelled it out.”

“Because I don’t wish to embarrass myself any more than necessary.” Hank rubbed his forehead. “Let’s inform next of kin.”

Nick grimaced. This was the part of the job that was the most testing. He also now feared there were Wesen involved.

**X**

Another car, another stop. The house they had parked by on the curb was normal; nothing out of the ordinary. Just another family about to have their lives ruined for an indeterminable amount of time. Grief was a funny mistress, people reacted in different fashions and suffered for various periods of time, some never recovered.

Sighing Nick mentally prepared himself for what would happen next.

It was Hank still sitting that made Nick aware there was something amiss. “Hank?”

His partner scrutinised him. “How did you reach the crime scene Nick?”

“By car?”

Hank was sceptical. “Amazing feat then Nick since you either caused your car to vanish considering you didn’t retrieve it from wherever you parked the damn vehicle, or took a taxi. And if you hired a taxi why didn’t we see you pull up?”

Nick wondered how he could squirrel out of this and then remembered he had decided not to lie anymore. Licking his lips Nick met Hank’s cool gaze. “I had a lift.”

The surprise etched into Hank’s face killed Nick a bit inside. Had he poisoned their trust in each other so badly that his own partner was stunned to receive a direct reply? Angry at himself and even more furious at having to conceal so much, including Monroe who was now an indispensable part of his life Nick forced out as much of the truth he could afford right here.

“Monroe gave me a lift in his car.”

Hank was silent for minute. “The clock-maker guy? The one who keeps popping up all over the place?”

“Yes.”

Hank’s shoulders were a tense line, mouth shut tight against whatever he wished to say. The silence in the car was crushing and Nick tried to convince himself that the judgement he felt burning in that yawning void was just his imagination.

Hank finally spoke. “So he just happened to be hanging in the same area as you?”

 _How much to tell?_ Nick debated how much of the truth he could reveal. _As much as possible._

“We were at our place.” That was true, they had been at the trailer and as Nick had said to Monroe, he considered the trailer not just his but Monroe’s as well.

Yeah…that freely granted admission caused Hank’s to stiffen even more. His partner was now assessing him with something close to disappointment.

“He’s a good friend Hank. He has helped us remember? Monroe doesn’t deserve the censure in your eyes.” The urge to defend Monroe was instant and overrode Nick’s need for caution in this delicate matter.

Hank however, didn’t appear perturbed. “Sure Nick. Just tell me one thing. This didn’t cause your break-up with…”

“I never cheated on Juliette, Hank.” _What are you implying?_

The vehement answer satisfied his partner. “Okay then, we clearly have to talk more on this later though.”

Relief was dizzy inducing. “Of course Hank. You can meet Monroe too if you want.”

Hank climbed out of the car. “Oh, that’s for certain. Come on Nick. We have a job to do.”

Feeling as if he had just completed a training session in the forest, Nick followed Hank up to the front door.

**X**

 

Informing Mrs Kwiatkowska of her husband’s death had been strangely easy. She had taken the news with equanimity and Nick was surprised to note a lack of surprise. Instead her tone held a ring of finality to it as if they were simply delivering news she had long feared.

As she served them tea at this late hour Nick examined her more closely. Why would a wife act as if her husband’s death was expected unless she knew something…or was guilty?

By Hank’s puzzled glance at him, Nick knew his partner was thinking along the same lines.

“Mrs Kwiatkowska,” attempted Hank again.

The lady in question smiled sadly. “Ruth, please Detective Griffin. I think that will be easier on both of us.”

Hank blushed a faint red in embarrassment. “Thank you Ruth. I notice that your name is spelled differently to your husband’s?”

Ruth added a slice of lemon to Hank’s tea, before handing the delicate cup to him. “It is the way in Poland Detective Griffin. The ending for some Polish surnames changes depending on whether the wearer is male or female. As Stefan’s – my husband’s – name was ‘Kwiatkowski’ , ending in ‘ki’ my surname therefore changes to the feminine ending ‘ka’.”

Steady hands passed Nick’s cup to him. Nick nodded in thanks.

“So you are Polish?”

“No, Detective Burkhardt, I’m American. Stefan is Polish. I met him through family friends. However, for his sake I followed the norms of his culture.”

Ruth closed her eyes briefly. “I loved him so much.”

 _Past tense,_ thought Nick. “Ruth, you didn’t seem all that shocked when we informed you of your husband’s death. Can you explain why that is?”

Ruth laughed bitterly. “And naturally that is suspicious.” She dismissed their uneasy utterances with a shake of her hair. “I’m not surprised Detectives because for the last year Stefan has been keeping rather bad company.”

Hank leaned forward. “A gang?”

Ruth stared at him and when she spoke it was severe. “Worse. He was spending the majority of his free time with his new best friend Raynor Sunders.”

If Nick had been a rookie he would have been stunned at how much vehemence could be enunciated in two words: the name of an individual. However, he was not a beginner and so the passion displayed was not startling, but it was intriguing.

Curiosity chewed at Nick. “I have to ask Ruth, how could this Raynor be worse than a gang?”

Ruth’s whole demeanour transformed, lovely hazel eyes losing their sadness and now blazing with something close to fury, face like stone. “Because he twisted my husband into a mockery of what he once was. Raynor,” the name was spat with equal measures contempt and fear – _interesting_ considered Nick – “whispered depravities into Stefan’s ears. Oh he was cunning. At first he captured my husband with the idea of friendship.

“Stefan worked long hours as an accountant and wasn’t the most outgoing of men.” Ruth’s hands curled in her lap. “So when he bumped into Raynor at the grocery store and they chuckled at knocking over their shopping then proceeded to commiserate about their jobs…you know how it is.”

Nick exchanged looks with Hank. Yeah they knew. How many friendships had started so mundanely? More than could be counted probably.

Ruth’s hands were white. “Stefan was so happy at first. I was happy for him too, therefore I ignored the feeling of wrongness when I first met my husband’s new friend. I tell you Detectives, I have never experienced such powerful evil radiating off a person before nor coldness. Raynor hated me on sight. He loathed me even more when I tried convincing Stefan that the manner in which Raynor spoke of things was unpleasant, with always an under-layer of cruelty.”

A sob escaped, the only sign of how grieved she had to be. “My God, that creature was insidious. He so cleverly put a spin on whatever he said or wanted my husband to do that it sounded innocent in the beginning and if anything went sour my husband managed to portray it in a good light – pinning the blame on the other party! You ask why I am unsurprised by my husband’s death? Because the road he was travelling down only has two endings: death or worse.” 

“Worse?” asked Hank. “What’s worse than death?”

Nick winced at the pitiful expression shot at his partner. “You’re a police officer and you ask me that?”

Hank shrugged.

Ruth raised her hands to wipe her face. “Stefan was hurtling down the pathway of darkness and despair. Evil only solicits greater evil and the way in which my husband followed Raynor’s lead could only result in death. Or in losing your soul.”

Ruth stood, mouth trembling. “Are we finished Detectives? I don’t think I can talk for any longer now.”

Hank stood as well. “Of course. We will have to question you further however.”

Ruth nodded briskly. “I understand.”

Nick could feel Hank’s eyes on him, but the poisonous idea from earlier was still circling his head so he wished to ask Ruth one more question, but without Hank present. “I’ll join you now Hank. I was just wondering if I could Ruth’s bathroom.”

“Okay, don’t be long.” Hank did not sound pleased.

As Hank’s footsteps faded Nick met the cool assessing gaze of Ruth. “I have a question.”

Ruth didn’t say anything, just remained silent. Nick ploughed on. “You said that Raynor was evil. Apart from what he said, did or the emotions you felt from him…did you notice anything else strange? Peculiar noises he may have made? Growls, hisses or moans for instance? Maybe he moved faster than the average man? Or his eyes were an odd colour…you know, may have flashed under the lights in the kitchen for example, appearing like one unbroken shade?”

Nick asked the last part very carefully, picking his words with the caution of a man navigating a minefield. He never let his eyes wander from Ruth’s face and saw the second his questions hit the mark.

When Ruth answered her voice was strained thin. “I may have once seen Raynor’s eyes turn a solid green and perhaps – when I was exhausted from lack of sleep Detective – witnessed the flicker of sharp elongated teeth.”

 _Fuck, it is a Wesen, but what type?_ “Thank you Ruth. If you remember anything else please call.”

Nick pulled out his card and handed it over. “I’m available at any time.”

Ruth examined the thin square. “Who are you? No ordinary cop would ask me those questions.”

Zipping up his leather jacket Nick hesitated. “I’m…someone who will believe you when you think you’re crazy. No matter how strange call me if you think of anything else.”

Ruth led him to her door, but prevented him from leaving by laying a shaky hand on the leather. She searched his face for sincerity and whatever she saw convinced her that he was speaking the truth.

“I will Detective.” She pulled the door open.

As Nick stepped outside a thought occurred. Turning partially back, he said, “Sorry Ruth, but one more question. If you had to put a name to what you think Raynor is, what would you say?”

When Ruth answered her hazel eyes were fever bright and her voice smouldering with conviction. “A demon Detective Burkhardt, a demon from Hell.”

**X**

 

On the heels of such a mind-blowing confession, after a rather tense Hank had dropped him off at Monroe’s, Nick barely refrained from bursting into Monroe’s bedroom and dragging the Blutbad out of bed to interrogate him on the possibilities of demons and demon –like Wesen.

However, recalling how cranky Monroe had been lately due to missing his Pilates in the morning, Nick succeeded in reigning in his wild desire to fling himself at Monroe and demand explanations. If it was also partly because Nick didn’t wish to be slung like a dead reaper over Monroe’s shoulders, (and they still had to have that discussion on not showing up human Grimms), as he was carried to his own bedroom by an irritated Blutbad then he could be forgiven for once displaying the better part of valour.

Padding as quietly as he could into the bathroom Nick cursorily washed his face and brushed his teeth. Slipping under his covers Nick wondered when his life had reached the point that he was seriously contemplating _demon-Wesen_.

No, really, when?

**X**

The wonderful aroma of food cooking drew Nick out of his slumber. The promise of Monroe’s breakfast  persuaded Nick to drag his weary ass out of bed and down the stairs.

Accompanied by the soft ticking of the many clocks decorating the house Nick padded into the kitchen to find Monroe standing by the stove wearing just a plain white t-shirt and green boxers.

“Morning Monroe.”

Monroe looked up from where he appeared to be frying vegetables if the smell was anything to go by. “Morning Nick! How was the case last night? Any clear leads?”

Nick shrugged and walked over to the coffee press. “Want any coffee Monroe?”

His friend rolled his eyes. “Not likely for me to say no Nick. Don’t think you’ll get away with evading my questions though. I can be pretty stubborn when needed.”

Nick laughed as he began pulling Monroe’s mug plus his own (and how had he not noticed he had his own mug now?) out of the cupboard.  “Tell me about it Monroe. Your stubbornness almost gets you killed on a regular basis.”

“Knowing you Nick is enough to darken my chances, but hey, I thought we agreed to screw the status quo a long time ago.”

Smiling now, Nick turned with his arms crossed over his chest watching Monroe fondly as he worked his magic. “I was present Monroe so I do remember.” The dark flavour of coffee was beginning to tantalise his nose as he spoke with Monroe. “As for my case, feed me and I’ll spill all the secrets of the crime-scene.”

Bright brown eyes flashed at him, amusement sparkling in the liquid depths. “Classy Nick, you’re building your reputation as story-teller. Must be a Grimm thing having a desire to regale tales, whether on paper or orally.”

Nick shook his head and quickly darted across to whack Monroe on the arm.  Monroe snorted. “Pathetic.” Gripping Nick’s arm he manoeuvred him to face the coffee machine. “Go and brew my new special blend Nick. Maybe it’ll be afraid of you.”

Digging in his heels Nick reclined against Monroe, so that his back was touching Monroe’s chest. Tilting his head Nick smirked up at Monroe. “For that Monroe I’ll make you pay at our next training session. And just for you, with your favourite: axes.”

Monroe glared at him, but there was no real heat in his expression or words, “You’re evil.”

“I try.”

Ignoring Monroe’s mock growl Nick returned to brewing the coffee, because Monroe liked his just so and unfortunately the conniving Blutbad had succeeded in convincing Nick that he also had to have his coffee in the same manner.

That was the end of enjoying the late night horrid brown sludge that they concocted when trapped in the police station to the small hours. Lovely.

Prepping the plates as well as he waited for the coffee to be ready, Nick closed his eyes briefly. To be truthful he was unsure how to approach telling Monroe of his suspicions. With the sun’s bright rays filling the small kitchen with a glorious warm glow the thought of demon-Wesen seemed like the wild imaginings of a child.

Yet he had to have peace of mind and Ruth had appeared quite serious in her verdict.  If someone else died because he didn’t share his admittedly odd hypothesis then Nick knew he would never forgive himself.

The machine finished brewing the coffee and Nick quickly poured their mugs and then went over to join Monroe again at the stove. A  frying pan was sizzling and Monroe was pushing spring onions and peppers around. The smell was fantastic.

 “What are you making?”

“A Spanish omelette Nick.” Monroe tried reaching past Nick for the herbs he had lined up on the counter, but was prevented by Nick refusing to budge and the hot pan.

Nick inhaled the scent of forest, herbal shampoo and Aloe Vera aftershave that Monroe always dabbed on. It was uniquely Monroe and whenever Nick smelled that combination he relaxed, thinking of his friend.

“Some help would be brilliant Nick.” Monroe peered at him. “Or don’t you want to be fed as you demanded earlier? Some of us not only want to eat, but also to be informed of certain events.”

Picking up some random herb Nick tossed it from hand to hand, “Only if you’re good,” he replied, jesting. Riling up Monroe was great fun and was a slice of normality in their lives. It helped remind Nick that he had a life outside being a Grimm and a cop, even if lately the line that defined both roles was becoming more blurred by the day.

 “I’m not sure how to describe what happened actually.”

Monroe plucked the jar from him, frowning. “How can you not? You’re not new at either the cop thing or the Grimm stint anymore. And I’ll say this: lack of words will ruin the image of you being all scholar-like, penning our heroic adventures down.”

Snorting Nick picked up a bowl containing the prepped eggs. “I am sorry for tragically destroying your image of me, though at least you will be able to capture our legacy with your wild imaginings.”

“Uh huh, thanks Nick. No, don’t add the eggs yet! So…any words yet? What’s the problem?”

Nick sighed and turned so his front was plastered against Monroe’s side – and when had this closeness become normal? “I can’t really describe or explain because the evidence is confusing and to be honest, a little creepy.”

The bowl was tapped with one long calloused finger and Nick cautiously poured the beaten eggs into the frying pan. Scraping at the egg-vegetable mixture Monroe glanced at Nick, brown eyes shining with curiosity. His breath puffed over Nick’s face when he talked.

“Confusing and creepy? Okay Nick, I don’t think I should let you out of my sight anymore when you go on cases, because I have the horrible sensation that I’m going to hate what you say next.”

Nick smirked, even as the memory of last night caressed him with the undercurrent of danger he had sensed. Almost absentmindedly Nick tugged Monroe’s shirt down where it had ridden up when Nick had re-positioned himself.

“Let’s say I came across reports of a person – I’m guessing Wesen -  having an aura of well…” Nick licked his lips. Again the notion of demon-Wesen sounded silly, however, his Grimm instincts were all standing up screaming at him, plus Monroe was now gazing at him with concern.

“Nick?” prompted Monroe. When he didn’t reply Monroe turned down the gas and if possible leaned in more towards Nick, twisting his own body so that now their fronts were almost flush against each other. “Hey buddy, you can’t leave me hanging like that. Aura of..?”

Titling his head back, _damn Monroe being taller_ , Nick forged ahead. “Aura of pure evil topped with a mouthful of sharp pointy teeth and…shit Monroe this is going to sound as if I drank a bottle of whiskey in one go; eyes that changed to green. Completely: as in the pupils going AWOL. Monroe? Whoa. Are you okay?”

Monroe had gone deathly white and the second Nick had mentioned eyes transforming green without possessing pupils Monroe had actually knocked the frying pan askew, almost sending oil onto them and a hairs breath from setting them both on fire.

“Monroe?” Nick seized Monroe’s arms, panicking at Monroe’s strange and frankly unusual reaction. “Monroe? What the hell? Monroe? Say something. Please. Anything. Even ‘idiot Grimm’ would be fine.”

Nick stared up into the wide frightened expression – frightened?

 _Fuck._ _What has gotten you so afraid?_

Coldness settled into his limbs as the ominous feeling Nick had been experiencing since this case multiplied.

Perspiration pimpled out over his skin as Nick fumbled beyond Monroe, managing to switch off the stove and practically falling onto Monroe in the process. It did thankfully however cause his friend to awaken from whatever stupor he had been in and to grab Nick in a bone crushing embrace.

Clasped face first into Monroe’s t-shirt Nick struggled to breathe. He felt as much as heard Monroe mutter into his tousled hair: “You didn’t meet this Wesen did you Nick?” A sigh tickled Nick’s hair.

“No, wait stupid question. Of course you haven’t, you’re still alive.”

Growing increasingly alarmed because Nick had never heard Monroe this distraught, not even when the Reapers were in town, he succeeded in wrenching his head up so he could prop his chin on Monroe’s chest. Monroe met his gaze.

Nick knew his face was flushed and he could see an answering flush in Monroe’s. He also watched as Monroe’s eyes bled red, face Woged out into the wolfish mask Monroe was no longer ashamed or shy about wearing around Nick.

Whatever Nick had said, had caused this reaction in a Wesen that didn’t exactly have many natural predators. It wasn’t a comforting thought or a cheerful perspective in facing this thing.

_So maybe demon-Wesen isn’t so off the mark. Shit._

“What’s going on Monroe? What has you so scared. What is this Wesen?”

Monroe ran a tongue over his fangs. “Something I prayed I would never encounter.” Breathing harshly Monroe said, “Tell me everything Nick. I don’t want to freak you out in case I’m wrong.”

Nick scoffed, “Too late for that Monroe. I’ll tell you, but you better be explain ASAP why the mere description of this Wesen is enough to send the big bad wolf running.”

“The ordinary big bad wolf Nick, if I’m correct in my assumption, would be _fleeing_ for the hills right about now. A pack of Grimms are better than what I am thinking of.”

“You’re terrible at not freaking me out Monroe. Never try and comfort a dying person.”

Monroe didn’t even crack a small smile. Instead he inclined his head to the living room.

Beyond worried now Nick coughed, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how close they were standing. It was still painful having to wrench his fingers from Monroe; the loss of Monroe’s heat was acute.

Monroe’s hands fell by his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them now he was no longer holding Nick. Swallowing harshly Nick led the way into the living room.

**X**

Slowly the background noise of Monroe’s clocks were filling the living room to the point where they were no longer a background melody, but instead the main foreground attraction. It was driving Nick insane, something previously impossible as he associated these clocks – many which Monroe had tended with his own hands – with warmth, security… _home_.

Nick had just finished describing the details of last night and now Nick was waiting for Monroe to explain why he had reacted like a terrorised lamb in the kitchen.

As he waited for Monroe to speak – slumped against the soft back of his sofa, while Nick perched on the edge of the armchair at an angle to the sofa – crazy scenarios whirled around in his head.

Nick had just decided upon a particularly outrageous one – a mutant Wesen (a blend of the most violent Wesen out there, including Blutbaden, Jägerbärs & Lausenschlange) with supernatural powers (no more X-Men movies for him) running amuck – Monroe raised his head from where he had tipped it back on the head rest.

His face was still white, but it was human. The features were drawn however, eyes maintaining a tint of ruby.

Nick braced himself for the worst.

“Nick…I swear that what I am about to tell you isn’t a lie or something belonging in a supernatural television show okay? You’ve got to believe that I am being deadly serious, because this thing? This Wesen will destroy you and all you know about otherwise.”

Sucking in a hiss Nick gazed at Monroe. He put up his feet, dressed only in slipper socks and Nick realised with a start that he was still in his pyjamas, and nudged Monroe’s knee with a foot.

“Monroe, you are the only person in the world that I trust enough that if you said the Archangel Michael had visited you, announcing that the apocalypse was round the corner and we had to fight a legion of demons then I’d believe you without blinking. So whatever you have to say, no matter how fantastic? If you say it’s true then I’m on board.”

Monroe’s face was actually quite handsome when hued a deep scarlet, the red in stark relief to his scraggly beard and curly hair. _I did not think that._ Nick tried brushing off the stray thought.

“Thanks Nick,” Monroe smiled past the embarrassment and pleasure. “Though that was a rather apt comparison under the circumstances.”

“Huh?”

Monroe growled. “Unfortunately, yes. Nick, the only Wesen that fits your profile: vanishing into thin air, sharp teeth, green eyes without pupils and an aura of malevolence is a Wesen Esser. Quite literally a Soul Eater.”

Monroe shuddered as he said the name. “I suppose you would recognise a Wesen Esser as a demon.”

“So I was right with my guess!” Nick was so incredulous he was actually correct with his wild assumption that he shouted.

“Nick?”

“Um, sorry Monroe. Just when Ruth said ‘demon’ I began to wonder if she could be right, though I did think I was insane to take it seriously. So demon-Wesen really exist? How about angels? ”

Monroe sighed. “Yes, demon-Wesen exist Nick, but not the type you are thinking of. The demons Grimms and humans are familiar with aren’t Wesen Esser. And if I thought for one single breath that we were dealing with those type of demons – the spirit breed – then I’d be dragging you to my church and asking my priest for help.

“Because let me tell you Nick,” Monroe leant forward, hands tipped with claws clasping Nick’s hands, as if it was imperative Nick understood the sincerity in Monroe’s warning, “those demons? They don’t simply destroy you from the outside in; they can infiltrate your very body. Possess you so that you are no longer in control, but having to watch as the poisonous spirit uses your body like a puppet to commit malicious acts, whisper evil words and sicken your soul to the verge of death…yet there is no escape because the demon has invaded your body and your soul is trapped until the demon is exorcised.”

“My god…”

“Not God Nick. They’re not of heaven, but of hell.”

Fire and coldness erupted in Nick. The cold sensation from before still pervaded his limbs but now a fire burned in his soul.

The two feelings were opposite, yet the same; iciness from the fear instilled by the horrible threat of losing one’s ability to choose and being forced to commit acts of a malevolent nature because another being was in charge of your body; and hot anger that this might have happened to Stefan Kwiatkowski.

“So a Wesen Essercannot possess a person?”

Monroe shook his head. “No, but that only makes them slightly less dangerous. It does make them ever so easier to fight, if you know, you consider fighting the equivalent of a hundred Dämonfeuer hyped up on steroids _easier_.”

“Then what happened to Stefan?”

“Just what his wife described. Soul Eaters cannot perform possessions like their non-material brethren, but they can cause an obsession in someone. You mentioned that Stefan’s personality had changed close to his death? Ever since he met Raynor?”

“Yes, Ruth was very adamant on that aspect.”

“Right and Stefan growing more callous, casting aspersions on other people, agreeing with Raynor on what he said, even when it was said with a definite undertone of cruelty? Stefan’s unusual fixation on Raynor itself, how it developed is also disturbing. Coupled with the glimpses of Raynor Woged out that Ruth caught, it all screams obsession.”

Nick was confused. “Obsession? I know it has to be bad, but even a human can cause someone to become obsessed.”

Monroe was grimmer than Nick had ever seen him. “Yes, but a Wesen Esser can create an obsession that literally poisons the soul. They can turn a previously good, sweet person, who has never said an unkind word in their life, into a twisted mockery of themselves. Nick, when I say ‘obsession’ I mean that it is part of a Soul Eater’s nature.”

Monroe hesitated. “Put it this way Nick, a Wesen Esser could turn an Eisbiber to evil, make them commit murder and/or torture even their own children. They do it as easily as we breathe, or butter toast. They corrupt you because it is fun. Not because they need to eat, but because it brings them joy. Fuck…it is as if their entire nature is designed to honey their words so you would think of nothing of driving a knife into Hank’s chest and _justifying it afterwards_. There is no demonic possession, you _chose_ to do that. There is no excuse.”

Nick inadvertently squeezed Monroe’s hands so that their joined hands went white-red from the pressure.

“Fucking hell.” Nick understood what they were facing now and what had made Stefan fall so badly. “But why was Stefan running? From the witness account I believe that he was running away from Raynor.”

“A game gone wrong? Maybe he discovered what Raynor really was. Though in that case I am surprised he ran, from what Ruth describes her husband was fully under Raynor’s power.”

“So how do we fight a Wesen Esser?”

Monroe looked haunted then. Nick watched as sweat beaded Monroe’s brow and trailed down his friend’s cheek. “Fight? Not easily. Their words are not their only weapons; they have well…supernatural powers to call upon.”

“Magic?” Nick wasn’t sure why the prospect of magic shocked him after what he had seen happen to Adalind. 

“Of a sort. Wesen Essercan manipulate the energies that flow around us. They can seize these flows of power and the spiritual essence of the living creatures of this world and mix it with their own spirit, their own energy to work spells. That’s how magic was explained to me anyway. They’re just very good at accessing and using this vast energy web.”

_Brilliant. So I’m up against demon-Wesen that can essentially tap into Earth’s powerhouse. Mutant X-Men theory wasn’t far off then._

Nick pulled his hands away and dug his palms into his eyes ere propping both feet onto Monroe’s lap. “I’m getting why you said a pack of Blutbaden would turn tail and lope off into the woods Monroe. Any chance these creatures are in my library?”

“I don’t know,” answered Monroe honestly, one hand dropping to rest on Nick’s foot. He swung his own long legs to rest on his precious coffee table. Looked like the situation called for uncivilised behaviour from both Grimm and Blutbad.

“Maybe. Wesen Esser stay under the radar mostly. I am surprised that one revealed himself not only to Miss Lockmore, but allowed Ruth to catch sight of their true selves. And I do think it was deliberate as usually Wesen Esser prefer not to catch the attention of those, not only Grimm, who would either try and destroy them or ruin their fun.”

“Can they die?”

“They are mortal Nick so yes they can die.”

“Just not easily.”

“We’re not that lucky, no.”

“What’s the next step then Monroe? You know these things better than I do.”

Monroe’s eyes turned fully red, features transforming. “First, we discover where Stefan ran from and allow Hank to interview Raynor. If he catches wind of a Grimm on his trail then we stand no chance. Surprise is our best shot of destroying Raynor.”

“Destroying?”

“You can’t imprison him Nick. No jail can hold a Soul Eater for long.”

Nick nodded. “Okay.” He had no love for Raynor and from what Monroe had told him, a demon-Wesen was evil incarnate, one step from being as horrific as a demon that could possess. Not something that heralded any quarter to be given. As it was, it sounded as if fighting Raynor would take everything they got and then some. Perfect.

“And it would be best if anyone you know, Grimm informant especially, left Portland. They would only be in mortal danger if they stayed.”

“Bud and Rosalee…”

“Rosalee would never leave.”

“True,” admitted Nick ruefully. “But I’ll try with Bud. He is loyal but has a family.”

“Okay Nick.” Monroe’s stomach growled.  “But first, breakfast.”

**X**

They were cleaning up after breakfast when Monroe suddenly lifted his head and sniffed the air.

Nick recognised that contemplative mannerism; Monroe had picked up a scent that didn’t belong in his territory. He silently cursed that he wasn’t dressed and therefore did not have his gun to hand.

So, while he ran to Monroe’s workstation and plucked the key to the cabinet from inside a clock, (where else would Monroe hide it?), he asked, “What’s the matter Monroe? Who or what is it?”

He seriously hoped that it wasn’t Raynor. They were not even mildly prepared for a Wesen Esser at this stage.

Monroe’s soothing voice filtered to Nick as he unlocked the cabinet, withdrew a metal box and swivelled the combination lock. “It’s Hank. He just parked and is walking up the drive.”

Relief flooded Nick, heart slowing its frantic race. “What is Hank doing here?”

Retrieving his gun from the now opened metal box, Nick packed everything away neatly and walked into the living room to meet Monroe’s incredulous stare. “Really Nick? He dropped you off here, so Hank probably figured you need a lift into work as your car isn’t parked outside. Unless you were planning on flying or using me as a personal chauffeur? ”

“Good point Monroe, though I could live without the sarcasm.”

Monroe grinned and flapped a hand. “You would miss it Nick.”

Nick rolled his eyes. The sad thing was, he most likely would miss Monroe’s special brand of disdain and direct to the matter quips. His life was not where he imagined it that he would miss Monroe’s little quirks, but now that it was, Nick wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Gloat all you want Monroe. You’d miss my…what do you call it? Oh right, silliness and reckless desire to protect everyone I meet.” Nick just wanted to stuff a sock in his mouth, because this was embarrassingly touchy-feely.

_Apparently facing a potentially unbeatable foe makes me sappy. Great._

Monroe was smiling, the mirth actually reaching his eyes, considering how downright fearful and serious he had been only half an hour ago when they had been discussing their frankly chilling situation. “Going Wieder clearly has side-effects.”

“Lack of meat in the diet Monroe…enough said.”

Red flashed in Monroe’s eyes just as the doorbell rang. “You’re about to face Hank just in your pyjamas and slipper socks…I’m cool with that, but are you with the inevitable teasing? Enough said.”

“Crap.” Nick dashed for the stairs. “I’ll be down straight away! Be nice.”  
Too late Nick remembered that Monroe only had his t-shirt and boxers on. “I’m never going to live this down,” he muttered as he fought with his trousers.

Laughing at Nick’s actions, Monroe went to answer the door.

“Morning Hank,” a very wary Hank was standing on his doorstep, expression moulded in a friendly if perhaps strained manner.

“Morning Monroe. I’m here to pick up Nick. I dropped him off last night?” Hank added as if his leaving Nick here was something that Monroe might not notice.

“Yeah Nick is just getting ready. We just finished breakfast. Why don’t you come in?” Monroe stood aside as Hank stepped over the threshold. His shoulders were stiff.

“Oh, hey, have you had breakfast? There is still some Spanish omelette left, so if want any I can rustle up a slice for you with a cup of coffee or tea?”

Hank looked taken aback by Monroe’s enthusiasm. Monroe couldn’t blame the guy, it had to be weird suddenly acknowledging that Monroe, a prior suspect, was his partner’s best buddy and that they for all intents and purposes shared this house.

Allowing Nick into his territory and furthermore permitting the Grimm to treat it as his own was something that still amazed Monroe. Blutbaden weren’t good with sharing anything they considered ‘their property’, yet here he was letting Nick crawl all over his space as if it was completely normal.

That fact said something about their friendship, the strength of the bond between him and Nick had to be close to unbreakable for such a sharing of territorial instincts and self.

He hadn’t told Nick yet, because as he warned Nick, humans in general weren’t good at the Wesen thing  and while Grimms were slightly better, informing your friend of ‘bonds’ and ‘profound trust’ was a bit much for a human to take.

This was more than pack…it was one of the ties that _made up a pack_. So, yup, he didn’t have words for it, not without rambling; just feeling and action.

Aaaannnnd…he was on a tangent. He could easily get distracted sometimes.

Hank was surprised and a little awkward as he replied, “Spanish omelette? Can’t turn down home cooking. Coffee too since you are offering.”

Monroe grinned. “Cool, follow me Detective.”

“Hank is fine.” The dark-skinned detective followed Monroe into his kitchen which still smelled of the terrific aromas of cooked breakfast.

“Hmmm…something smells good.”

“Wait until you taste” promised Monroe as he went to the oven slipping on a glove. Carefully he opened the oven and removed the frying pan that contained the remnants of the huge omelette he had made. The lovely golden colour was interspersed with red and green of the vegetables he had used.

“There’s no meat as I’m a vegetarian. Hope that’s okay?”

Hank nodded. “Hey, I’m not turning down a free meal.”

Monroe chuckled. “Good to hear. How much?”

Hank walked to Monroe and glanced at the pan. “Half of what you’ve got?” He sounded cautious.

“No problem, you can have all of it if you want.”

Hank looked hesitant. “You’re sure?”

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Okay then.”

Monroe eased the omelette onto the plate and then hurriedly poured a mug of his special brew. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Yes, but I’ll do it.”

“Yeah, everyone has their own way of drinking coffee.” Monroe pulled out what Hank needed and watched the detective stir and begin to eat standing up.

“Thanks for this.”

“You’re Nick’s friend so it’s no big deal. Sure you don’t want to sit?” 

Hank shook his head, “No, refined paranoia, Monroe. The moment I relax there will be another call.”

Monroe was amused. “I’ve noticed this trait in Nick. Do all homicide detectives act so paranoid?”

“Paranoid? What are you two talking about?” Nick entered the kitchen looking scrubbed and with the tang of minty toothpaste drifting on the air. Monroe’s nostrils flared and he tried to control his reactions.

No need to traumatise Hank further – at least before Nick decided to tell him everything as Monroe suspected he would. Hopefully, before this Wesen Esser tried to cast them under an obsession or more likely kill them.

“About how whenever we relax to eat a tasty meal we are likely to be called out,” replied Hank taking a break in gulping down the omelette. “Good morning Nick.” He glanced at Monroe, drawing out from the back of his throat an appreciative noise. “This is fantastic Monroe. No wonder Nick hangs here so much. Does he do anything in return the lucky bastard?”

“Hey,” protested Nick, but happiness saturated with relief soaked his scent that Monroe and Hank were actually getting along.

Monroe smiled inwardly. Early days and all that. “He does the laundry now that I’ve trained him on how it should be done. Ouch!”

Nick glared in mock anger at Monroe. He had crossed the kitchen to stand beside Monroe and at Monroe’s jibe had poked him in the side.

Hank was examining them closely while he ate. Monroe knew he was desperately curious as to why and how their friendship worked. He prayed that Hank’s initial conclusions were favourable.

“Ignore Monroe; I do plenty around the house.”

Monroe rolled his eyes. “Sure you do. Walking around checking all the doors and windows, while good security measures, isn’t always reassuring.” Monroe spared a fond glance at Hank to involve him in their banter as much as his rusty social skills allowed. “I can see where this paranoia you mention bleeds into Nick’s life.”

Nick just snorted as some of the nervous tension drained from his stance, “Anything new since last night Hank?”

“No, but today we should interview Raynor.”

Nick discreetly shifted closer to Monroe to quickly press reassuringly against him. “I think it might be wise to split up to expedite affairs: you interview Raynor while I run a background check on Stefan and Raynor. That way I may unearth any other prospective candidates or evidence we can use against Raynor.”

Hank chewed his final bite and sipped from his half-full mug. “Fine by me. I’ll pop in with you to confirm Raynor’s work details then I’ll be on my way. Do we need to pick up your car?”

Nick shrugged. “We better, just in case I find something. Can’t ask Monroe to drive me about right?”

Monroe raised an eyebrow. “If I’d known you would have guilty feelings in Hank’s presence I would have invited him over ages ago.”

“Funny Monroe,” Nick went over to check the fridge. “Damn, we forgot to shop. Ugh…” Nick peered over his shoulder as he realised what he had said, dark hair flopping into his eyes. “I mean, I owe you a shop Monroe.”

Hank assessed them both, but let whatever he had to say go. “Almost ready Nick.”

Nick straightened quickly. “Right, I’ll fetch my jacket. Bye Monroe.” Nick’s eyes were intense, the grey dark with worry. Monroe could _taste_ his friend’s tangible concern: _be careful_.

“Bye Nick,” he returned the sentiment, his own fear for Nick’s safety causing the wolf to brim close to the surface, claws and teeth a hair’s breadth from ripping free.

Nick understood the silent communication and casting one last anxious glance exited to grab his jacket.

In the silence Monroe observed Hank who was drinking his coffee. Hank’s pleasure at the heat and flavour of the brew warmed the kitchen. The reminder of the deadliness of Hank and Nick’s case – and Monroe’s case now – was as sharp and intense as claws sinking into his flesh.

To fight the Wesen equivalent of a demon was serious and terrifying. Monroe had not been exaggerating when he had told Nick that these creatures were evil and to fight them would be harder than anything they had ever encountered.

Their souls were at stake – Monroe had done his best to underscore how a Wesen Esser could create an obsession in someone, Wesen or human and that their entire being was designed to ensure that they were successful.

A pack of rampaging Blutbaden would be far more welcome and easier to take on. For the first time ever in his life Monroe wished that there was more than one Grimm haunting Portland’s streets, even though that was no guarantee of success, it would be better odds than now.

As it was there was only Nick, Hank, Monroe and Rosalee if Monroe was correct in assuming her dedication to helping them out. At least unlike Hank they knew the true nature of what they were up against.

 A desire to protect Hank swelled within Monroe as well as the urge to reveal a small fraction of his world, the Wesen one, to the detective. Monroe knew how much Hank’s friendship meant to Nick and heck, if Monroe could assist in any way to make the transition for Hank easier then he would.

He was so glad his family couldn’t see him now.

“Er…Hank?”

Monroe watched as Hank drained the last drop and looked up. “Yes Monroe?”

Monroe licked his lips. He wished he was smoother at such things. “Nick mentioned in passing your case and well, it uh seems. That is-”

Hank’s amused demeanour at his behaviour was encouraging where usually it would be irritating as it signalled he was receptive to Monroe’s bumbling attempts.

“I read a lot of what people would call ‘odd, crazy’ books okay? Um, you know, the paranormal sort.” Hank became still, expression closed. 

“Anyway, just saying that one part of it screams of the supernatural –and you being an educated man, you’re not going to dismiss the unusual out of hand, no matter how strange and insane it may sound.”

 _Shit, this is awkward._ Monroe waved his hands. “Anyhow…rambling on as I normally do, stop me man if I don’t make sense, or less than usual anyway. Right, if you come across any further paranormal aspects, glowing eyes, vanishing and reappearing acts, stuff somehow happening without a ‘logical’ explanation? Call me, I uh...run a group that collects and deals with such things, our collection of recorded accounts could be of assistance.”

Okay, he didn’t run such a group, but how else to approach Hank without sounding completely insane? Granted, paranormal investigator group wasn’t necessary more normal, but it had the coating and allure of an organised association rather than the brutal truth of, ‘by the way I’m a Wesen, demons exist and you’re dealing with one. Did I say that Nick is a Grimm? No? Right, a Grimm is...’ and so on.

Yeah, no.

“Therefore, what I’m trying to say is, just be open to the supernatural, as who knows what’s out there?” Wow that didn’t sound the least bit weird or threatening _at all_.

Hank was staring at him. His skin was greyer as if reliving his recent brushes with what humans would call the ‘supernatural’. His eyes were bright with alarm. Monroe breathed deeply and resisted the urge to stammer on. Seriously, not needed right now. He had freaked Hank out enough thanks very much.

Finally Hank spoke. “You believe the supernatural exists?” His voice was peculiar as if he was implying that those who did were automatically crazy. Monroe didn’t blame him.

“Yes, even had many strange encounters myself.”

Hank clenched his hands. “Like?”

Monroe sensed Nick lurking outside the kitchen, heart rate as loud as a waterfall. He reeked of anxiety, fear and anguished hope. Monroe couldn’t stuff this up so he offered what life-lines he could. Friendship meant you did your best and Monroe was going to do his best.

“Seen some odd creatures in the woods,” he pretended not to notice Hank’s sharp breath. “One creature was upright – I was just strolling along on a walk mind you, hadn’t drunk any alcohol – was hairy, furry. I’m getting ahead of myself. I saw someone ahead examining a patch of flowers and was about to call out when I stepped on a twig causing it to break. The person looked up, but the instant it turned to me I swore its face changed so it was wolfish then flowed straight back into human features.”

Monroe shrugged and watched Hank. “I have more, but Nick will probably start yelling for you.”

Hank swallowed, his face was pale, but something similar to gratefulness lurked in his eyes.  “Thanks Monroe. I, uh, will think about what you said.”

“Cool. Glad you’re open minded Hank. Just remember,” Monroe added as he followed Hank to the front door returning Nick’s awed smile with a ‘no biggy’ one of his own, “keep your eyes peeled for the supernatural.”

“Sure. You ready Nick?”

Nick grinned. “Yup,” he looked at Monroe and said softly, tone bristling with affection. “See you later Monroe, have a good and safe day.”

Warmth at Nick’s obvious concern from him, pooled in Monroe’s belly and he couldn’t help the gruff acknowledgement of care that escaped him. “I’ll be fine Nick. You’re the one who stampedes around with guns. Be careful huh?”

Hank was obviously uncomfortable at their display of, there was no other word for it, tenderness. _Yes, there is,_ whispered Monroe’s treacherous inner monologue, _love._ “Good to see you have a friend outside work Nick. I’ll wait in the car.”

Nick was startled, a flush infusing his cheeks. “No need. Bye Monroe.”

“Once more, bye Nick.”

Hank coughed and said, “I guess I’ll see you around Monroe.”

“Sure, Nick and I were discussing having you over for dinner sometime. Just tell Nick when you’re free and I’ll prepare the tastiest meal of your life.”

Hank laughed. “That’s great.” Grabbing Nick’s arm he hauled his reluctant partner through the door and down the drive. Monroe smiled and waved them goodbye.

**X**

The ride to work after leaving Monroe’s was silent apart from Hank’s one comment as he started the engine that Monroe seemed like ‘an okay guy’. Nick had relaxed, for the first time since his life as a Grimm began hoping that for once relations with his non-Grimm side would go smoothly.

Bar that comment Hank was quiet, brooding in his seat, not even saying anything as he drew up to Nick’s apartment, allowing Nick to hop into his own car and follow Hank to the precinct. Nick suspected that his partner was mulling over everything that Monroe had confided in him, probably weighing the risk of revealing his own recent experiences.

Nick wished with his very soul that Hank would begin to accept what had been happening to him, so that when Nick finally shared the rest Hank wouldn’t freak too much. He just needed a break…a shot at making things right with his partner and Nick knew he had created some of these issues himself by pretending not to see what Hank had witnessed.

As it was, Monroe had decided to help him for which Nick was grateful beyond words. He sometimes thought that Monroe was a dream, something too good to be real, someone too loyal to be Nick’s friend – and Nick didn’t have many friends even before Monroe. To be honest, aside from Hank, Monroe was his only friend and the only one so far with whom he had fitted in so perfectly from when they had first met.

Getting out of his car Nick joined Hank as they entered the bustling precinct managing a small smile despite the current situation.

“Ready for a big day?” asked Hank as they dropped into their chairs.

Nick grinned, happy that Hank was trying. It had to be hard meeting someone you probably (rightly) thought may have had something to do with breaking up with Juliette.

“As always Hank, maybe Harper will have some good news for us.”

Hank switched on his computer, lips curled up. “That would make a change.” Snatching up a pen and pad Hank scribbled a few lines down.

“Looks like you have already found your information Hank.”

“I wish, just preparing my notes for when I interview Raynor.”

Nick nodded, a sick feeling coiling like a serpent in his belly. “You sure you’re happy meeting Raynor alone?” Nick knew what Monroe had said, but he was concerned about Hank facing a demon-Wesen, _a Soul Eater_ , without back-up.

“No problem. He might be less defensive anyway with just one of us grilling him. From Ruth’s accounts he strikes me as one cold dish.”

“Maybe, call if you need me.”

“Er…sure Nick,” Hank shot him a wary look, clearly a little mystified by Nick’s peculiar behaviour.

Nick tried harder to act normal. If he put Hank off balance further he would do all the damage necessary to ensure Raynor became suspicious and then they were screwed.

With a curt nod Nick dove into his own research, faking an ‘I’m alright, honest’ attitude.

It seemed only minutes later that Hank was rising to leave. “Guess what?” he commented as he slipped on his jacket.

Nick leaned back in his chair, a picture of casualness, even as his heart hammered. “What?”

“Raynor’s address…” Hank threw his notepad at Nick.

Nick took one look and hissed. “That’s only a couple of roads away from where Stefan was discovered!”

Hank’s manner was grim. “Yeah, convenient huh? I wonder where Raynor was as it seems rather unlikely he didn’t know Stefan was in the vicinity especially as Stefan was barefoot.”

“That will be fascinating to find out. Good luck Hank.”

“Thanks.”

Nick seized Hank’s sleeve as he passed. Hank stared at him, confusion writ over his features.

“Be careful Hank.”

Hank examined him closely while Nick tried telling Hank with his eyes the dangerous nature of this case. A little of his warning seemed to penetrate for Hank squeezed Nick’s hand briefly before pushing it off his sleeve.

“I will Nick, see you soon.”

Nick watched Hank leave, clenching his fingers so tightly on his desk that his fingers went white.

**X**

Hank glanced at the building and surrounding grounds that was listed as Raynor ‘s work-place. It appeared pretty innocuous: small three storey, painted white, set back from the main road in a private lot. There were a few cars parked which screamed of money. A truck also stood idling to one side.

That was intriguing; Hank wondered what they required the truck for. Was there an office move in the process? Or new furnishings perhaps? Filing that question away Hank entered through the glass door into a cream decorated reception.

A young woman was sitting at the reception desk so Hank asked her whether he could speak to Mr Sanders on police business. A pinched expression settled on the receptionist as if either his profession or his audacity to call without an appointment was painful and warrant for distress.

It wasn’t an unusual reaction, but with the so far weird vibes this case was giving, (and Nick come to think of it), Hank felt immediately more on edge than normal.

 _Come on, calm down_ , Hank repeated to himself as he waited. Only seconds later the receptionist returned.

“Mr Sanders will see you now,” she said formally, tone chilly.

“Thanks. Shall I go straight through?”

“I’ll take you,” was the answer.

Hank ignored her rudeness preferring to note his route. This building certainly had an eerie atmosphere. Paintings lined the walls as they walked down a hallway, otherwise bereft of decorations.

The subjects of the paintings were scenes of Portland, but somehow all with a pallor of gloom over them. Hank couldn’t describe it, but if there were people they were either happy, but almost a forced happiness, while other people had face contorted in suffering. Houses just loomed, dark shadows filling the background.

One last image depicted a moon hanging in the sky over a forest, the moon was full and tinged a pale blue. Nothing inherently scary or creepy, but it seemed to promise something, Hank wasn’t sure he cared to know.

Thankfully, the receptionist at this point knocked on the door and at the sharp command to enter led him into a spacious private office.

A man rose as he entered and said, “That will be all Jane.”

Jane left without a word.

 _Strange_ , thought Hank.

“Good morning Detective Griffin, I am Raynor Sanders. I understand you wished to talk with me?”

Raynor stepped around his desk holding out his hand to shake. Hank was surprised, Raynor did not fit the (admittedly bizarre) description of their witness, Miss Lockmore. He was by no means tall, nor muscular.

He was shorter than Hank, actually he was well…small, maybe 5’6, maybe 5’7 at a push. He was slender though that didn’t mean he wasn’t muscular to some extent under his clothes. Raynor did however, have longish hair that brushed his chin when not sleekly combed back. Though of course, appearances can change…

 _No, not going there now._ Hank forced the memories of the figure in the woods and the theatre to the back of his mind. Now was not the time to engage ideas of shape-shifting monsters.

Instead Hank shook Raynor’s hand, suddenly aware of how delicate it was and easy he could crush the appendage. He hastily let go. Raynor simply smiled. Hungry lions had friendlier smiles. The unsettled sensation in his stomach took a firmer grasp and Hank recalled Nick’s very intent plea with a jab of unease. “Yes, Mr Sanders, I am afraid I have bad news.”

Raynor stiffened and gestured to his desk. “Please sit Detective Griffin.”

Hank did so and observed with interest the picture angled on the desk. It was of Raynor and Stefan. They were in the woods and both men were smiling. Raynor had an arm slung over Stefan’s shoulder and was gazing up at the taller man with badly disguised adoration. Stefan meanwhile was caught in the act of laughing, eyes crinkled with laughter and oblivious to his friend’s rapt stare.

Raynor noted his fixation and he lost his smile. Instead the delicate features twisted and oh fuck…went grey.

Hank almost panicked when as if it never happened the grey cast vanished, leaving Raynor’s skin a more normal pink. Raynor seemed unaware of his momentarily alarm.

“What business do you have here Detective?” The tone had lost a bit of the welcome he had received.

Raynor’s presence was a burning brand, oppressive in how it drew close around him, almost suffocating in its weight. Hank took out his pad and pen so he had something to occupy himself and distract him from fancies of people changing appearance and abnormal auras.

“Early last night I’m sorry to inform you, that Stefan Kwiatkowski was hit by a car. He died upon impact.”

Raynor for a single moment did nothing; still as graven stone then as if he had been hit by a hammer, he shattered. Tears sprang into his pale blue eyes, overflowing easily. He bit his lips as if to prevent himself from saying anything.

Yet what was the most shocking was that Raynor squeezed the glass of water in his hand so tightly that it formed cracks, the noise startling.

Hank leant over quickly to try and pry the glass loose but before he could, it shattered, glass shards cutting deep into Raynor’s flesh.

“Shit,” breathed Hank. “Do you have a first aid kit? Do you need an ambulance?”

Raynor stared impassively at him only responding when Hank grabbed his wrist. “No,” he said, voice brittle. “There won’t be any lasting damage.”

To Hank’s horror Raynor opened his hand, the blood stained glass shards looked like gruesome Christmas decorations. Raynor’s blood dripped onto his desk and down towards his wrist, collecting on Hank’s hand where it grasped Raynor.

Hank swore and fumbled for his cell. Raynor however reached over and with a strength Hank couldn’t believe he possessed, pried Hank’s hand loose.

“Put away your cell Detective Griffin. I let my emotions get the better of me. I will fine.”

Raynor pulled the handkerchief in the breast pocket of his suit jacket free and pressed it against the injured hand. Hank grimaced at the sight. That had to hurt yet Raynor expressed no pain whatsoever.

Slowly circling back to his seat Hank reluctantly did as requested. “Are you sure Mr Sanders?”

“Perfectly,” Raynor met his eyes with ones still shiny wet. “Now tell me Detective what happened to my friend and who killed him.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, but recounted shortly the circumstances. When he questioned Raynor on how close Stefan had been to his residence and his state of undress anger rolled off Raynor, even as no sign of it appeared in his manner.

More than once Hank glanced at Raynor’s hand as he spoke. The sopping wet cloth was a disturbing image.

Hank was always conscious of how Raynor filled the room, it was as if the burning brand that Hank had experienced when first greeting Raynor was constantly tightening its hold on, binding him in a coil of despair.

Shivering minutely Hank struggled to focus. He frankly wanted to get out of this office, because he was afraid and not certain why. Raynor had uttered no threats and apart from being stronger than he looked, plus the freaky hand thing, there wasn’t a solid reason to be so perturbed.

“Stefan’s wife indicated that you were a bad influence on her husband. Do you know why she would say this?”

Raynor’s composure broke a second time, a snarl actually forming. “Because she was a jealous bitch and could see that I loved Stefan more than her.”

“Were you lovers?” Hank was hopeful, up to now there wasn’t anything Raynor had said that he or Nick could use to suggest that Stefan had been at Raynor’s and possibly running away from him, leading ultimately to his death.

“No,” spat out Raynor, tears now a mere trickle, a flush rising anew in his wan cheeks. “He would never cheat on his wife, but I was more devoted to Stefan than Ruth ever could be. Stefan knew that, but Ruth was always trying to convince him otherwise, poisoning him against me.”

Hank murmured encouragingly, “Did this make you mad?”

Raynor’s breathing was harsh, it bordered on hyperventilating, causing Hank to become alarmed again. He really didn’t wish for a repeat performance of the glass incident. “Of course it did Detective, but Stefan was beginning to see sense, he realised how his wife was lying to him about me. We were…” Raynor gulped, “We were planning on going away for a while. I…I wanted to share something with Stefan…”

“What?” prompted Hank. He knew this was important. He just needed Raynor to tell him what he was going to reveal to Stefan.

Raynor however, didn’t answer. “But she frightened him…and now I won’t be able to!”

Raynor’s howl caused Hank to instinctively to jump to his feet, hand on the holster as the smaller man slammed his hands onto the desk, practically shrieking, “Someone took Stefan from me!”

Pale blue eyes glared up at him and in a heartbeat bled a shimmering emerald, pupils swallowed by the sparkling raging green sea.

Pure terror fixed Hank to where he stood, frozen in the act of reaching for his gun. His heart was racing so fast that Hank feared it would burst through his chest. Worse was the mind-numbing shock short-circuiting his brain.

Hank’s mind fled and all he could manage was to scramble his thoughts as the instincts that man normally buried rose to the surface. They were screaming to run, that whatever Raynor was, it wasn’t human because _human eyes did not transform to solid green with no pupils_!

Raynor’s presence was now magnified and if Hank previously felt constrained, now he could barely stand up under the onslaught of grief, despair and terrible anger emanating from Raynor.

Then when Hank had neared the brink of collapsing or surrendering to the urge to run the presence retreated and Raynor was slumping back in his seat, pretty features once more arranged calmly.

Hank breathed as if he had been drowning. Each inhale was life-affirming. Sitting because his legs were jello Hank knew he was a quivering mess.

Thankfully, Raynor appeared little better, hardly aware of Hank transfixed with dread, a fact Hank was profoundly grateful for as he somehow managed to gather himself in time to meet the gaze of the creature that called itself Raynor.

“I apologise for my outburst Detective Griffin. Stefan’s death has been a ghastly blow to me. Are there any further questions?”

 _Fuck no. Not unless you are in chains._ “No thank you. Not at the moment, but please don’t leave town.”

Raynor inclined his head. “Naturally.”

Rising to his feet Raynor said, “Since that is all I’ll escort you outside.”

Hank would rather swallow the shards of glass scattered on Raynor’s desk, but couldn’t say so. Therefore, he permitted Raynor to accompany him to his damn car and answer his question of the truck, ‘oh office refurbishment’.

“Goodbye Mr Sanders. Thank you for your help.”

Raynor shook his hand, “You’re welcome Detective.”

Hank carefully got into his car and drove off glimpsing Raynor watching in the rear-view mirror. When he was two blocks away Hank pulled over, parked and lifted his right hand examining the palm and back.

When Raynor had shaken his hand, he had used his injured hand. Except it wasn’t  hurt anymore, the handkerchief had slipped and Hank had felt the flesh: smooth, unbroken, soft.

It was as if Raynor had never shattered the glass in his hand at all.

**X**

Nick’s morning went as well as could be expected. Nervous tension suffused his being and every time he recalled Monroe’s description of a Wesen Esser and the fact that his partner, Hank, was interviewing the suspected Soul Eater…understandably Nick was jumpy.

He barely fended off well-meaning jokes from Wu as he attempted to act normal. When Harper called to say she was ready for them to come, Nick near sprinted out of the door.

Unfortunately, while the news confirmed some hypotheses it did not straight out point the finger to Raynor. Realising he wouldn’t be able to concentrate as long as Hank was absent, Nick decided to head for Bud’s home.

He needed to warn him of the very real danger that was lurking at their door.

**X**

Fifteen minutes later Nick was parking outside Bud’s house. He knew Bud was home because he had called on ahead, urging Bud to be there as he had to speak to him. The Eisbiber had been anxious as was his nature, but had said he would be waiting.

Jogging up the path Nick grinned when the door opened as he approached. He appreciated how observant Bud was, it had saved his life before now.

“Hey Nick,” greeted Bud enthusiastically, if worriedly.

“Hey Bud, can I come in?”

“Yes! Of course!” Bud jerked the door fully open and flapped an arm. “You’re always welcome.”

Affection tickled Nick inside. It was so rare for Wesen to greet him so warmly, even those who knew he wouldn’t hurt them. He treasured that treatment. It hurt Nick that because of his association with them that this joy might soon sour and be lost.

“Thanks Bud.” Nick quickly darted inside and obsessively checked through the window to ensure he hadn’t been followed. It was too early for that, because Raynor shouldn’t know of him yet, but Nick had no intention of Bud being hurt.

“What’s the matter Nick?”

Nick turned to see that Bud had caught him looking and was now gnawing at his bottom lip, face twitching slightly.

Nick glanced around. The living room was completely empty. He couldn’t hear any sounds. His throat was tight as he asked, “Where’re your wife and children Bud?”

Bud frowned. “My wife is upstairs, my children are in school. What’s the matter Nick? Are you okay? Has someone threatened you? Are you in danger?”

Holding up his hands to placate Bud’s well-meaning concern, Nick said as calmly as he was able, “At the moment I am fine Bud. As for whether I’m in danger…if not now, I will be soon. That’s what I’ve come here about.”

Bafflement echoed in Bud’s voice: “Can I do something to help? I will you know. Eisbiber help their friends.”

Nick couldn’t stop the genuine fondness which arose at those words and wished he didn’t have to send Bud away. Yet he had to, if Bud and his family were to have a chance to survive.

“My current case involves a Wesen that Monroe has identified almost positively. What do you know of Wesen Esser?”

Bud’s face drained of all colour and the abject terror which pooled in his eyes had Nick’s stomach drop and hope die.

Well, that answered my question. Nick knew that Eisbiber weren’t considered the bravest Wesen, though he personally didn’t adhere to that philosophy, however, Bud’s reaction matched Monroe’s initial response, which wasn’t comforting. _When a Blutbad has the same acute horror at the mere name of a Wesen as an Eisbiber, then you know you’re dealing with a creature that is the quite likely the nightmare of the Grimm. Hooray my life._

“I’ll take that as a yes…”

Bud just gaped then literally sat on his carpet too shaken to make it to the couch. Alarmed, Nick dropped next to Bud. “Bud? Listen, I’ve already had Monroe give me a near heart-attack with the whole silent act, so if we could skip that I would be relieved and very thankful.”

Bud blinked and Nick noticed he had Woged. Trying to soothe Bud’s agitation Nick gently laid a hand on Bud’s arm. “Come on Bud, I need you to pull yourself together. I came to tell you to leave Portland for a while, just while I sort things out with Monroe.”

His words had the desired effect because Bud became animated. “L…l…leave?” he stuttered.

Nick nodded. “Yes, currently I don’t believe or have reason to, that this Wesen Esser knows me. However, he will soon and I don’t want him to discover you, because you visited me at the wrong time.” Nick inhaled deeply, needing to quiet his own distress. “Bud, you have to pick up your children now, pack a few bags and get as far as possible. Do you have family? Actually tell John too, it is best if he leaves too.”

How Bud successfully wrapped his head around Nick’s ramble, Nick had no idea, but what Bud said next was painfully sweet in its display of loyalty. “Fine Nick. I’ll tell my wife and John. We’ll pack then I’ll grab the children.” Bud levelled a determined stare at Nick. “Then they’ll leave – we have family and they’ll just vanish from sight – while I stay. You…you’re going to require help. Someone to back you up when you and the Bl..Blutbad dive right in.”

The salty taste of his tears were a shock. Nick rubbed a hand over eyes and cheeks. “Damn…Bud, you give all Eisbiber a run for their money with your courage and friendship. I can’t let you take that risk though Bud, from what Monroe says, these Wesen Esser are one step removed from the Hell sent demons.”

“He’s correct,” said Bud, face still white and drawn, eyes bright. “That’s why you’ve got to let me stay. Nick, I just feel really strongly that if I don’t stay something awful will happen.”

Nick was at a loss, Bud’s desperation was thick and as much as he wanted to deny Bud, to order him to leave Portland, his senses were whispering otherwise. How many times had Monroe berated him to listen to his instincts? To allow his ‘sixth sense’ a chance to be heard? Enough that if he had a weapon for each time, he would own his own museum’s worth.

That part of him that spoke from somewhere beyond his rational process was now scratching at his mind. The message was beyond words, it was simply a emotion so strong, insisting that Bud should stay that Nick was overcome.

Obeying his training – the nagging fond voice of Monroe – Nick answered the only way he could, “Sure Bud, you can stay, but you’ll have to bunk with Rosalee, another friend. I don’t want you alone.”

Bud just sighed deeply, relief evident. “Thanks Nick.”

“Thanking me is possibly premature.” Nick stood. “Now let’s go fetch your wife, and inform John as well.”

“Right! My wife and kids will be off in a few hours Nick.”

“Aim for three hours Bud. Seriously, this isn’t the time to dally. If you or John require support, from a police perspective especially, call immediately. I will pull every string I’ve got.” _Raynor isn’t going to touch a single hair on your family’s heads, nor John’s. Not now or ever. Even if I have to go down with him._

Oath sworn Nick said goodbye and left, phoning Monroe to inform him of Bud’s position and Nick’s wish that he stay with Rosalee. Since Monroe was with Rosalee right then, Nick was fortunate to receive the green light immediately from her.

“I’ll come for Bud myself if you want,” finished Rosalee, “and Nick? I’ll read through every book I possess in case I can find even a snippet that may be useful.”

“Thanks Rosalee, are you certain-”

“Don’t even try Nick,” interrupted Rosalee. “Haven’t you learnt by now that Fuchsbau are just as contrary as Eisbiber? We’ll beat this Wesen Esser. You and Monroe, stubborn duo, are not alone Nick.”

Nick smiled, awe at the devotion of his friends bubbling up. “I think we have noticed.”

It was with renewed hope that Nick returned to the precinct, his oath now made lighter with the addition of Rosalee and Bud.

**X**

By the time Hank returned Nick was ensconced safely back at his desk with a lunch plus coffee he had bought on the way.

The pallid complexion of his partner made Nick tense, “Hank? Are you alright? What happened?”

Hank just collapsed into his chair, not even bothering to remove his jacket. He seemed shaken to the core. Glassy eyes met Nick and Hank licked cracked lips.

“I’m not sure Nick,” Hank breathed deep and accepted the cup of coffee Nick had offered. He drank without checking if it was cool enough. Nick winced _. Shit, it must have been bad, but Hank’s alive so…did Raynor Woge?_

Anxious to find out Nick casually asked, “Did Raynor try anything? Did he become violent or you know how people can react when stressed…eyes were really bright with anger..?”

Okay, so he sucked at being subtle. However, Hank wasn’t evidently in a condition to notice him being a blundering fool, so at least that was going in his favour.

Hank wiped his brow and Nick began to worry that his partner might not recover from the shock of whatever had happened to him in Raynor’s office – and it had to be Raynor unless someone else was the demon-Wesen or there were more running around Portland…

_Fuck no, not heading down that route._

Shrugging off his own surge of panic Nick drew his chair right up to Hank’s and asked gently: “Hank?”

Hank turned to look at him and said in a voice that was dead, as whatever emotion Hank was experiencing was so powerful that it drained all energy from Hank, leaving no room to put feeling into his words.

“Nick…I think I’m either going mad or worse, sane and…” Hank shut his eyes then opened them, “I have to agree with Ruth, Nick. Raynor’s appearance is unassuming: small, slim, delicate features and hands. When I first saw him I thought a child could push him over without much effort. Yet Nick, his presence.”

Hank shuddered and gulped the last of his coffee. Wordlessly Nick handed over his own cup. “It was as if Raynor filled the entire office – I could feel his…his aura for lack of a better word, surrounding me and it was so heavy. Sometimes it felt as it was pressing me down until I was suffocating.”

Hank leaned closer, voice so quiet Nick strained to hear him. “When we talked about Stefan, put it this way Nick, Raynor was psychotic about the guy. The photo on his desk of them? You should have seen his rapt gaze, like Stefan created the heavens. Then he lost it when we discussed Stefan’s wife.”

Nick hastily grasped Hank’s arm, his partner was shaking and Nick was cursing himself for not coming, but good would he have done? Barged in on a foe that according to Monroe was nigh on undefeatable and probably gotten Hank killed. It didn’t make it easier to bear that Hank had been alone and not able to understand what was happening.

“He broke the glass he was drinking from and didn’t even care that his hand was a mess. Then I swear Nick, his face went grey and his eyes went funny.”

“Funny?” repeated Nick, stomach twisted. His suspicions were being confirmed. “Like a strange colour?”

Hank gulped more coffee, coughing at the burn. “How about green?”

Nick threw the only life-line he could. “People do react peculiarly when under great emotional stress.” 

Hank damn near sobbed. “Sure they do. All I know Nick is that Ruth is right. Raynor has a presence discouraging that reminds me of evil and his hand…”

“What about it?”

“I thought for a second it had healed.”

Nick wanted to place his head on the desk and moan, because Hank’s story matched everything Monroe had told him, though the swift healing was new not to mention a little disheartening.

However, he had to comfort Hank, re-build his confidence and try and convince him that he wasn’t insane. “Do you want to talk to Monroe? Seems as if this case does smack of the supernatural.”

It said something for how traumatised Hank was that he didn’t question Nick’s suggestion or that there were supernatural elements. He simply nodded so Nick added, “Harper says that our guesses are correct: Stefan was running, his hands suggest he escaped from somewhere while his bare feet indicate he hadn’t come far due to their state. Nothing concrete yet.”

Nick was about to suggest Hank head home for a rest when Wu appeared. He frowned when he saw Hank. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” answered Nick quickly, the less people who knew the better. “What’s up?”

Wu kept an eye on Hank as he answered, “Guess who has been murdered?”

“Who?”

“Miss Lockmore, our witness and car accident lady.”

Nick’s heart froze. “Are you sure?”

Wu raised an eyebrow “You two aren’t the only ones who can read a dispatch call properly you know. Yes, positive ID. She was murdered in her home. You need to go the scene. Here,” Wu handed over a slip of paper, “is the address.”

“Thanks,” Nick stood and seized his jacket. “See you later Wu.”

“I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Wu waved them off.

Nick hurried a stunned Hank outside who halted on the street and stared in horror at Nick. “It has to be him Nick.”

Nick knew who Hank was implying, but he asked “Who?”

“Raynor, he was crazed with anger and grief. But how did he know who unless he was there last night?”

Nick quietly touched Hank on the shoulder. “Go home Hank, rest. You’ve had a hard morning. I’ll check the scene and we’ll start afresh tomorrow. I’ll ask Monroe to speak to you.”

Hank resisted for a few minutes before abruptly giving up. “Thanks Nick. I’ll see you tomorrow and Monroe.” Hank perked up slightly. “Monroe mind if I come early?”

Nick grinned, “As long as it isn’t before his regime finishes.”

“Seven thirty?”

“A date.”

Nick watched Hank drive off apprehensively then drove off to the latest murder scene.

**X**

It had been horrific witnessing Miss Lockmore’s deceased body. Vomiting had been Nick’s immediate compulsion, but he succeeded in restraining his urge to be sick.

Thankfully, Nick’s time in Miss Lockmore’s house had been short. Once he had inspected the scene and protected it from entry Nick had exited as fast as his feet could carry him.

He had decided to head straight for the trailer, because at this point there was nothing more Nick could do without further information. He had text Monroe his location.

Nick also checked in with Rosalee and discovered to his relief that Bud was already with her, though unfortunately they had yet to find anything useful. They assured Nick that they would continue. Bud did request for help with work as laying low could cost him his job. Nick had sorted that without an issue, calling into Bud’s employment explaining that Bud was assisting on a case and therefore had to maintain a low profile.

Once that was done Nick tried to focus on searching through his books, but the images at Miss Lockmore’s house, of Miss Lockmore played a grotesque slideshow through his mind.

She had been tortured to death. The sigils painted on her walls had set off a series of delusions among the police officers present. Nick had arrived in time to watch two cops, who he knew were friends, launch themselves at each other, hands tearing at clothes and exposed flesh yelling profanities.

A forensic had started screaming that she was suffocating and clawed at her throat, no matter that her companions told her nothing was blocking her windpipe or at her neck.

Another police officer, a man of twenty years service, had broken into a sweat and mumbled about how oppressive the air was, drenched in the aura of evil. Nick had believed him; the pall of darkness lay heavy over the house, especially the room Miss Lockmore had died in. Nick too had suffered the appalling sensations of despair and doubt gnawing away at his soul.

It was akin to having every depressing moment in your life thrown at you instantly in one fell move, until you were wrapped in a blanket of grief, anger and pain and the only way out was to fight. Nick had managed not to succumb, possibly his Grimm heritage, but had only just stopped Robert, the twenty-year service cop, from blowing his brains out.

Nick hadn’t cared then what anyone thought and kicked everyone out. He had used the handful who hadn’t been suffering the agonies of that place too badly and managed to clear the premises, putting up barriers. Then he had called Monroe’s priest, because there was magic  around involved as Monroe had admitted and Nick didn’t heed the all ‘not actual demon line’.

That had been a glimpse of Hell on Earth and Nick knew instinctively that it was out of his powers to deal with, hence someone who might more readily know how to cope. Currently, Nick was aiming for the premises to be blessed along with Miss Lockmore – that always worked in books and films right?

Monroe’s priest had agreed at any rate and said he would try his best and asked if he could call for further spiritual assistance. Nick had replied he didn’t care if he summoned every religious leader in Portland, he would personally clear it with his captain.

Nick doubted that Captain Renard would disapprove as he was Catholic from what Nick knew.

So, it was hardly any surprise he could barely stop thinking of recent events.

Monroe’s arrival then was more than a relief: it was normalcy.

Nick dove for Monroe, knocking him back against the (luckily closed in time) door.

“Whoa man, what’s up.”

Nick buried his face into the crook of Monroe’s neck and shoulder breathing deep of Monroe’s scent: the forest, Aloe Vera and herbs from Rosalee shop, plus another scent, the smell of cigarettes which made Nick’s nose wrinkle.

The tentative touch of Monroe’s hand on his head released a sigh from Nick.

“Nick? You okay?”

Nick reluctantly tilted his head and leaned back, he refused to let go of Monroe, maintaining the bone crushing hug.

“After what Hank experienced in Raynor’s office this morning and what I saw and felt in Miss Lockmore’s house, no I’m not Monroe. I had a true taste of what you meant by Wesen Esser being dangerous bastards.”

Monroe’s eyes gleamed scarlet. “Did Raynor threaten you?”

“No, he still doesn’t know about me, but Monroe, the implicit threat is there in the display of his powers. Listen to this…”

During his entire tale Monroe simply returned his hug, arms coming around Nick in a vice.

“At least you here,” finished Nick.

Monroe groaned and dropped his head so their foreheads were touching. A thrill ran through Nick at the intimate gesture, but then he focused on Monroe’s words and dread formed like ice around his heart. 

“You’re not going like my plan then.”

“What?”

Monroe’s brown eyes were mournful, yet held a resolve that frightened Nick as much as it gave him pride at Monroe’s strength of character.

“I met with a friend to see if he knew of any rumours of Wesen Esser in Portland, dropping Raynor’s name into the mix. My friend, very old acquaintance, still has a few shady dealings. Well, anyway, he had heard a rumour of a Soul Eater in town and naturally everyone was too afraid to speak openly. However, he said that this Wesen Esser ran a club that catered to ‘the natural Wesen’.”

“Natural Wesen?”

“Of the non-Wieder variety is my guess. My friend says that the club offers sanctuary and a shelter to deal with humans.”

“That sound menacing, but I haven’t heard of any unusual deaths.”

“Might not be deaths, humans can be used for fun and if the humans are homeless then they are like ghosts to society already.”

“Unhappily true,” Nick trembled at the heat he could feel rolling off Monroe and the tickling touch of Monroe’s breath. His own breath seemed to cause Monroe to shiver too.

“Nick,” Monroe’s eyes were smouldering with the intensity of the plea forming in them, his friend’s voice pained as he spoke, “the only way we’ll know for certain what we are up against is if one of us goes into that club.”

Nick’s heart clenched. “ _No._ ”

 _“Nick_ ,” whispered Monroe, grip so tight Nick thought he might be impaled on his friend’s claws. It wasn’t enough though, Nick squeezed harder, fearful that Monroe would disappear like mist from his embrace. He was already slipping away with every word Monroe uttered.

“This is our chance, you can’t enter Raynor’s house, but I can. I can pretend to be a Wieder Blutbad wishing to return to the old traditions. They require a musician, so I’ll offer my services. My friend was reluctant, but I said that if he helped then we would hide him. I can find out about Raynor, perhaps gain enough of his trust I can lure him to where we hold the advantage. Nick…you know I have to do this.”

Nick wanted to yell, shout at how unfair this was. Why should he lose Monroe on top of everyone else?

He clung to Monroe even as anger and terror mounted inside himself until Nick could only choke out his protest, rage falling as tears.

“Why Monroe? I can’t back you up once you are in there all alone. I’ve seen what Raynor is capable of and I’m not too manly to admit, it is fucking scary – and that was second hand.”

Monroe was crying too. “I know Nick, I don’t like it either, but we have no choice.” Monroe rubbed his forehead against Nick’s then suddenly dipped his head to brush his nose, hard, along Nick’s neck.

Scent-marking, thought Nick vaguely hysterically. Wetness from both their tears streaked their faces and Nick’s throat.

“Nick,” mumbled Monroe and the rumble coursed through Nick’s body so it was taut with need.

“It’s not fair Monroe,” rasped Nick in reply, fear vibrating in his voice, “You’re my only family Monroe. The only friend I ever trusted so much or had a rapport.” Nick laughed weakly, “You guess all my moves, my thoughts without effort. Not even Hank or Juliette did that – do that. Monroe, your friendship… I…I can’t bear to lose you.”

The confession was so close now and Nick inhaled Monroe’s scent, the burning heat of Monroe’s body pressed so tightly along his own, and the rasp of Monroe’s beard over his sensitive skin. Nick had never felt so alive or so fearful of death.

“I think, no I know, I love you.”

Monroe dragged his head up and tears glistened over his face, his beard scraggier than usual. His voice was raw, a low growl, “Nick, you idiot. I can’t think of losing you either. Think about it, I let you into my home, allow you to traipse all over my territory without much grumbling. Blutbaden rarely ever trust another Blutbaden with so much freedom in their homes, or to be close when injured.”

Monroe nuzzled Nick, making Nick gasp. “I know I can turn my back without you wanting to attack it. As for letting a Grimm do all these things…I let you into my home, eat my food, sleep in my spare bed, fight alongside you and even move an old friend’s body at your command.”

Nick grinned. He really was an oblivious Grimm. “You love me?”

Monroe huffed in exasperation. “ _Yes_ , so this kills me too, but we have no choice.”

It was too much, yet Nick knew he had to speak. “I know Monroe. It’s my duty as a Grimm and a cop to allow you to do this, but it will be agony each second you are in, outside of my reach.”

Nick wriggled and Monroe, confused, loosened his hold. Taking advantage Nick reached up, seizing the back of Monroe’s head, fingers digging into the curly locks and pulled Monroe to him. Their mouths met in a clash.

Moaning at the bruising pain Nick relished it for it meant that they were both _alive_. Somehow Monroe succeeded in easing the force so that they were frantically kissing, but not enough to hurt.

Tongues slid before Nick began leaving nips at the corner of Monroe’s mouth, then trailing wet kisses along Monroe’s throat, loving the scratchy sensation of his lover’s beard.

The growls Monroe emitted were the hottest noises Nick had ever heard and he whined through his kisses. That was enough for Monroe to decide it was his turn and he yanked Nick up and awkwardly navigated them to the small bed in the corner of the trailer.

Nick was guided carefully onto the covers without Monroe breaking contact. When Monroe was lying on top of him, one hand braced to relieve some of his weight, his Blutbad renewed his efforts.

Kisses that were verging on bites touched his skin and Nick arched, pleased and determined Monroe should know this. Monroe’s growls increased and he slid a leg between Nick’s, spreading his thighs so that his knee met Nick’s erection.

“Fuck,” gasped Nick. “ _Monroe._ ”

He pushed down, hissing at the solid resistance he found in Monroe’s knee. He felt teeth break his skin at the collarbone and Nick had never considered himself enjoying being bitten or having his blood drawn, but apparently he was one kinky bastard…or at least for Monroe, because the second the blood trickled over his flesh and Monroe lapped it up, Nick’s cock swelled so that it pressed painfully on his zip.

Nick dug his nails into Monroe’s back and moved himself up and down on Monroe’s leg. Then it got better as Monroe lapped at his blood with a reverence that had Nick dizzy.

The worship Monroe lavished in suckling then licking the wounded site was stunning. It whispered of love and devotion so intense that Nick cried out and came in a flood of searing white.

Collapsing Nick hardly felt able to breathe and as clarity gradually returned he was aware of Monroe nuzzling under his chin and where his shirt had ridden up, of Monroe’s hardness on his belly. Drained Nick wanted only to show his own devotion and affection to Monroe so he pushed at Monroe until he let up.

Nick stared into a face smeared with his own blood and the sight shouldn’t be hot, yet it was. Swallowing thickly, Nick struggled onto his elbows and leant up to kiss Monroe and gingerly lick the blood from Monroe’s mouth. Monroe’s eyes went wider and if anything a deeper shade of red.

Nick smiled then reached down with one hand to slip into Monroe’s trousers and underwear and to cup Monroe’s erection. It was heavy and hot on his palm. It was wonderful. It felt right as if holding Monroe in this place, was meant to be.

Placing his lips to Monroe’s ear Nick whispered, “Rock against me.”

Monroe snarled and bore down on Nick. Panting Nick squeezed and did his best to slide his hand up and down Monroe’s shaft. It didn’t take long under the circumstances for Monroe to orgasm, his cock pulsing and Nick moaned at the feel of sliding his hand through the hot semen and over the twitching cock.

When Monroe was still Nick pulled his sticky hand free with regret and lay back onto the bed. Monroe shifted beside gaze firmly locked with his. Neither spoke, too awed and happy.

Eventually Monroe shattered the silence. “I have to go, it’s almost evening.”

Nick had been aware of the fading light, but hadn’t associated it with Monroe’s imminent departure. The panic of earlier resurfaced, if in muted form.

“I _will_ be close by Monroe.”

 “I know,” rasped Monroe.

Nothing else needed to be said. Kissing they rose and cleaned themselves up, both staying close, attempting to savour each other’s presence, knowing that the future was shaky at best.

**X**

It had been the longest night of Nick’s life.

Allowing Monroe to walk alone into the house that Nick had recognised as Raynor’s had been tougher than anything he had ever done.

All night he sat camped out in the same stand of trees that Stefan must have run through. The distance was too far, but both Nick and Monroe had no true concept of how far reaching Raynor’s power was, so they played safe.

To lose Monroe after they had only just admitted to loving each other would be impossible. Nick knew he would destroy Raynor, even if it meant burning the house and surrounding street down. He would be everything the Wesen whispered of Grimms.

As the night ticked away, Nick wrestled with these depressing thoughts and terrors. With each passing hour Nick understood better how the Wesen Esser worked. The horror of these demon-Wesen reached far ahead, the promise of what they were capable of casting long sickly shadows, crippling their adversaries, robbing them of rational thought and seeping away their courage.

The moon hung in the sky, filtering through the leafy tops, to play tricks on Nick’s eyes. More than once he ‘saw’ monsters looming out of the gloom or demons caught in the act of leaping. If Stefan had fled in the dead of night like this, Nick wondered how terrific his fright must have been, how maddened with horror he must have been to run when the very heavens seemed given over to Hell.

In this state of brooding contemplation soured by dread Nick spent his vigil.

It wasn’t until two am his cell at last vibrated in his pocket and Nick grabbed it with numb fingers. The screen glowed harshly in this tiny crop of trees, but Nick sagged. Monroe was okay.

*I’m out. See you soon.* the text read.

Without waiting Nick eased to his feet, cold and sore. Stepping quietly, senses alert Nick moved along the tree line, checked the road and crossed as far down as possible. Two more roads disappeared until Nick finally reached where he had parked his car.

Climbing in, Nick drove to their pre-arranged meeting spot where he only had to wait five minutes before Monroe appeared and parked. Nick didn’t remember opening his car or running to Monroe, all he recalled was the instant they were together again, joined in an embrace of warmth and thanks.

When they kissed Nick could taste their mutual relief and gladness that the other was safe. Breaking away was difficult, but Nick had to ask, his conscious wouldn’t allow him to rest otherwise.

“Is he? Is Raynor a Wesen Esser?”

Monroe curled a hand over the back of his neck. “Yes and Nick, he’s fucking insane.”

Nick ran his hands up and down Monroe’s back. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a Blutbad Nick; believe me when I say I know when someone is fucking crazy. Raynor was high on grief and a boatload of satisfaction when talking, well interrogating me really. He was constantly making allusions to his latest kill. I assume that is Miss Lockmore, because he said it was the perfect revenge as this ‘creature’ hurt him. He kept on asking me what I would do if someone hurt me or someone I was…’attached to’.”

“What did you say?”

Monroe laughed lowly. The sound made Nick shiver for there was an echo of darkness in there. “I recalled my wild days and thought about what I would do if you were hurt or murdered. It was a bit frightening. The emotions I raised in recounting what I would do were difficult to push back under.”

Nick lifted a hand and stroked Monroe’s cheeks, then leaned in to rub his nose under Monroe’s chin, the rasp of Monroe’s beard already familiar. He was aiming for reassurance and Monroe’s actions to this point had implied that scent played a huge role for Blutbaden – or for him anyway.

It paid off for Monroe relaxed. “Don’t worry Monroe, you’ve got me.”

Monroe simply nodded.

**X**

After that everything was a series of muddled feelings and actions. Driving home, checking frequently whether they were being followed, warily scouting out Monroe’s house before entering, stumbling in a tangle of limbs to bed, curling into each other under the covers, soaking up warmth and love.

Dreams swelled and fell, nightmares tugging at the edges of their slumber until comfort was sought and found in the other. In this way Nick and Monroe spent the night.

Slowly the night itself flipped into morning, heralding Hank’s arrival. That was an experience. Nick would never forget how his partner looked: pale with mouth looking thin with strained. His eyes were tired as he too had slept poorly, but Hank’s straight posture indicated he was resolute in not letting his exhaustion triumph.

Monroe had been nervous, muttering about how they ought to have manuals on how to tell a human about the Wesen world with an extra pamphlet on introducing a Grimm. In fact, if they survived he was sure there must be someone to complain to and he would rope Rosalee and Bud into helping. It would be a public service.

Nick just smiled and heart beating too fast, sweat slicking his skin he had casually wandered off saying he would make breakfast. He noted Monroe’s wince and promised to be ‘careful’.

Nick went to the café that opened ridiculously early.

No one ever said you had to be fair in cooking.

When he returned Monroe was pottering with a clock and Hank quiet. Worried Nick was about to say something when Monroe pulled him into the kitchen.

“Hank will be fine, he just needs time to adjust.”

“Does he know…?”

“About you? No, not yet, but I put in a good word,” Monroe shrugged and grimaced as he tugged the box of doughnuts from Nick, “Seriously? I’ve got to teach you how to cook or you’ll die young.”

“As long as you’re by my side.”

“Sap.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Says the man who dines with wine, plays classical music in the background with the lights dimmed.”

Monroe ignored that and said, “Hank told me what happened in detail and man I’m amazed he hasn’t checked into a psychiatric ward. He’s strong and as long as we ease him into it he should be okay.”

A weight Nick hadn’t been fully aware of lifted from his chest. “How much does he know?”

“I told him, _stressed_ , that a lot of weird, frankly supernatural shit goes down regularly and provided as much evidence possible-”

“How?”

Monroe grinned. “Contacts Nick, plus Rosalee managed to email me links to a load of online forums and lists that people join to record their experiences. It helps I have a few books that also relate odd occurrences that have occurred to many with a wide range of professions. Can’t argue with the facts, or at least not if you’re sensible – and Hank is sensible.”

Nick leaned up and kissed Monroe. “Thank you.”

Monroe flushed. “Yeah, I’m a sucker, got it. Now go and wait with Hank while I dish up ‘breakfast’.”

Smirking Nick left with a final murmur of “I love you.” He knew he hadn’t imagined the ‘love you’ Monroe growled in exchange.

All too soon however, the early sunrise transformed into the brighter, stronger light of late morning and Nick and Hank were on their way into the precinct to try to eke out more information on Raynor.

Monroe meanwhile promised to stay safe indoors; he had to rest before another evening’s entertainment at Raynor’s and Nick was eager that the Wesen Esser had no cause to be suspicious of Monroe.

**X**

Rosemary tickled Bud’s nose as he set down another heavy load of books. Scenting the air to see where the elusive smell was emanating from Bud was astonished at how many herbs, books and other more macabre ingredients, (bone, dried or not, was creepy as far as Bud was concerned), were stored in Rosalee’s shop.

They were in Rosalee’s workroom just behind the main shop customers used. The worktable had been cleared and was now covered in an ocean of books, papers and even scrolls. More than one book appeared to be surviving only due to sheer stubbornness as far as Bud could see, since the pages were yellow, the binding close to peeling entirely away and the ink faint to the point that was on the verge of vanishing.

Since his arrival yesterday they had both been reading through these to seek out a solution to the current problem: one very dangerous Wesen Esser.

Bud still remembered Nick’s anxiety and what terrified him more, his air of frustration at not knowing how to deal with Raynor. No Grimm, especially Nick, should feel so ineffectual in the face of any Wesen.

It upset Bud. He knew how against the odds they were, but somehow he had always thought Nick would never succumb to the perceived futility of fighting one of the demon-Wesen. It did serve to strengthen his determination to help Nick any way he could.

“How are you doing Bud?” Startled, Bud swivelled and grinned warily at Rosalee. He liked her, the Fuchsbau was friendly, considerate and one of the kindest people he had ever met. Yet she was a fox and a part of him, the scared Eisbiber part, fretted she might grow hungry and gobble him up.

Yet the longer he spent in her company the more he realised she was like Nick and Monroe: contrary to the nature the stories painted them.

Hanging with a Grimm, Blutbad and Fuchsbau wasn’t what Bud had expected or dreamed from life, but he was learning that expectations weren’t always right or were plain boring. Nick had made him break the stereotypical Eisbiber mould for which Bud was proud and grateful. If Nick could be a different Grimm then so he could be a better, different Eisbiber.

He just had to accept that Rosalee was also different.

“Fine, Rosalee. Bought up a new batch of books for us.”

Rosalee smiled and walked past him to gaze down at the latest editions. She sighed and Bud noticed how weary she appeared.

On impulse he suggested, “How about we take a break?” Rosalee’s focused attention was a little overwhelming, as if she considered his opinion important, what Fuchsbau considered an Eisbiber’s word important?

“So…so we can rest and eat. You know…uh…so we have the energy to continue our research.”

Rosalee’s smile was very calming. “Thanks Bud. You’re right to remind me that we must rest if we’re to be any use for Nick.”

“And Monroe.”

Rosalee laughed. It was sweet and pure. “And Monroe, they come as a pair.”

Bud nodded empathically.

“So, food?”

Rosalee ran a finger down a closed book, dust spiralling away. “I have food in the next room. Come on then.”

As their stomachs led them to their overdue lunch Bud commented absentmindedly, “It’s a pity we can’t use the same materials on a Wesen Esser as an actual demon. You know, holy water, exorcisms all that incense stuff…Rosalee?”

Rosalee had frozen in the act of opening a small fridge. She was staring at him with a beautiful glow to her features. It was as if she was in a grip of a revelation.

“Bud,” she whispered, “You are a genius.”

“Um…pardon?” No one had ever called him a genius so Bud was worried for Rosalee, maybe she was very hungry?

“Why didn’t we consider it before?” Rosalee grinned savagely; face transforming to a wonderful fox. “This could be the answer to all our questions. Hurry and eat Bud, we have work to do!”

“What is the answer? Rosalee?”

Rosalee shook her head, “Eat first Bud, but consider what you said.”

**X**

Last vestiges of the late afternoon sunlight filtered into the church through the stained glass windows. The effect was dazzling, the windows shining so colourfully that Nick was convinced that the saints depicted in them would come to life.

Though considering his record recently, that wasn’t an entirely absurd notion. Nick eyed the windows cautiously just in case. Truly, how was this his life?

Further into the church Nick could fully appreciate the richness and splendour of the décor all given over to the devotion and worship of God. At the far end of the church stood the altar behind which a crucifix hung. Nick examined Christ on the cross and wondered if Catholics felt comforted by this reminder of their God.

In an alcove was a stand for candles, a number lit and burning. A statue of Mary stood behind the stand, a comfort and focus to a praying Catholic asking, Nick presumed, for intervention. He wished he had paid better attention in class. More in-depth knowledge about such things might be of a bit of assistance in a case involving demon-Wesen.

Even so, as he moved deeper into the sanctuary of the church Nick experienced a sensation of peace. Joyous and painful times were lived here, yet the impressions left by these events added to an overall perception that in this place at least, one was not alone.

As he walked further, moving down the far right aisle, Nick’s eye caught a statue of an angel with outstretched wings, sword drawn, cloaked in battle raiment. At his feet lay a coiled serpent. Fascinated Nick was about to go over when someone asked, “May I help you?”

Distracted Nick turned to see a priest, probably in his mid-thirties standing beside him.

“Yes, I’m Detective Burkhardt. I’m here to see Father Mark?”

The priest smiled sadly. Nick strangely did not find it off-putting; instead he felt a sense of security flow through him.

“I am Father Mark. You must be here about Stefan Kwiatkowski.”

“Yes, is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

Father Mark nodded. “Please come through to my study.” He held out a hand and Nick moved past in the direction of a side entrance.

**X**

The dying sun sank past the rim of the world, the red streaks fading from the sky. As dusk fell into proper darkness Monroe parked a car’s length away from Raynor’s house. He didn’t want to park in the drive-way in case he had to quickly leave.

Slipping out of his car he eased out his cello and took a moment to calm his mind. An unease had haunted him for the last couple of hours and it still affected him now, leaving him jittery.

He patted his trouser pocket but his cell remained silent. No call from Nick. Trying to shrug off his understandable nerves Monroe jogged up the house and knocked twice.

The door opened almost immediately. Light from the house spilled onto the steps and laughter floated to Monroe’s sensitive ears. The party appeared to be in full swing.

“Hi Dayton.”

The Lausenschlange didn’t reply, rudely turning away to maintain his vigil on the entrance.

Monroe suspected that before Stefan’s escape that the security here hadn’t been so stringent.

Raynor was already sitting at a table with a group and Monroe Woged. Shit, but Raynor reeked of grief and desperation. 

“Monroe!” Raynor sounded happy to see him. Monroe was certain that wasn’t a good thing.

The heads of Raynor’s companions turned and Monroe nigh on panicked and fled.

The cause of his unease were staring at him with wide unblinking eyes.

  **X**

Father Mark was apologising for not being of greater help as he led Nick back through the church.

“No need to be sorry Father. You never know what will be useful.”

“Of course you are correct Detective. I simply have this powerful belief that I must help you some in way.” The priest chuckled.  “That may sound peculiar to your ears Detective but it is the truth.”

Nick smiled, _If only you knew what I have seen. What am I thinking? You’ve probably seen a lot too._

“You’d be shocked at what little sounds strange to me these days Father. I have witnessed so many unbelievable events…” Nick trailed off as they drew level with the statue of the angel and serpent. Halting he examined it, an odd thrill coursing through his soul.

“Indeed?” The soft murmur of the priest managed to penetrate his fixation and Nick glanced at Father Mark to discover him scrutinising him with curiosity.

An impulse overcame Nick. If you couldn’t confide in a priest then who could you confide in?

“When we were discussing Raynor, Father, I had the impression you considered him a bad influence.”

Father Mark raised an eyebrow, “Yes.”

“Would you perhaps go as far as to suggest he casts an ‘evil’ aura?” Nick shifted, attempting for causal and he suspected, failing miserably.

“Ah…” Nick watched as the priest took a turn at staring at the angel before arresting him with his gaze. “I would more than suggest that Raynor casts an evil aura, I would say he does.”

“Thank you for your time Father.”

Nick traced the gold edging on the angel’s armour and wondered what the priest would say if he began talking about demons.

“The Archangel Michael seems to have captured your attention Detective Burkhardt.”

“It is Michael? Why is he fighting a serpent?”

“Yes and he is fighting Lucifer. The image is unfamiliar to you?” Father Mark sounded vaguely surprised.

“No, not really.”

“Tiredness can dull ones’ senses.” Father Mark’s touch stirred Nick and he focused on the priest.

“Since you have an affinity for Michael…wait here.”

Nick watched as Father Mark hurried into the presbytery, returning a few minutes later. He handed a small picture to Nick.

An image of the Archangel Michael was depicted, his sword at the ready, white wings stretched out and glorious and powerful. A verse was written underneath:

**Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in our hour of battle. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God restrain him, we humbly pray. And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, thrust down to Hell Satan and all the wicked spirits, who wander through the world seeking the ruin of souls.**

“Let it protect you Detective, I feel you require it.”

Nick swallowed. “Thank you Father Mark, I have to leave now.”

Father Mark started to escort him to the entrance when he abruptly stopped, frowning.

“What is it Father?”

“It may be nothing Detective, but I have recalled an incident that happened a while ago. It was so brief that with everything else that has happened, I forgot. Raynor wasn’t the only one who I sensed evil from.”

“Pardon?” Dread curdled in Nick’s belly.

Father Mark shoulders were tense as he said, “I sensed evil practically rolling off of his friends.”

Nick’s blood ran cold. “His friends…?”

“Yes, once, Raynor had companions flitting about him as he waited for Stefan to leave church. They were back across the road on the other sidewalk, hidden under the shadows of the trees. This time I followed Stefan down the steps and paused just before crossing the road. Well, Raynor immediately crossed over and ignored me. However, the street was quiet with no cars and his companions stood half-way on the road. It was then that I sensed the same wrongness and well… malevolence from them…Detective?”

“Sorry Father! I must run!” Nick shot off, horror granting him speed. He heard Father Mark’s blessing as he bounded off.

“May God and His angles be with you!”

Nick barely paid heed to the blessing as he hurtled to his car. He was on automatic, mind consumed by Father Mark’s revelation.

There was more than one Wesen Esser.

There was potentially a pack of them right here in Portland.

Monroe was at this very minute in the heart of the territory.

Panic gripped Nick and for a very real moment Nick considered just racing into Raynor’s house and busting Monroe out. It was by a small miracle that Nick didn’t just do that. In fact common sense filtered back into Nick as he became aware of a concerned voice asking him if he was alright.

Dumbly Nick turned his head to see who else, but Rosalee crouching down by his window, knocking on the glass and peering through.

Stunned Nick glanced past her and realised he really was at Rosalee’s shop. He hadn’t even remembered starting his car or driving it all the way here.

“Nick? Are you okay? Open the door please.” Anxiety coloured Rosalee’s tone and her face was creased with concern for him.

Breathing deeply Nick fumbled for the car door just as Rosalee looked over her shoulder, saying, “Bud, can you try and open the door?”

When Rosalee heard the click of the car door she met Nick’s stare and hurriedly reached out for him. As Nick pulled himself out of the car with Rosalee’s assistance he winced.

“What’s the matter Nick?”

“A lot Rosalee, just give me a sec.” Nick felt his shirt and withdrew a small rectangular card. It was the image of St Michael, the Archangel that Father Mark had given to him. A strange notion caught Nick’s fancy. Maybe the image had something to do with his sudden, _safe_ , appearance at Rosalee’s shop?

Nick almost instantly scoffed at his own idea. Why would an angel look over him?

“Nick?”

Nick forced himself back to the here and now. The extremely alarmed expressions of Rosalee and Bud were both staring at him.

Nick tugged Rosalee towards the shop entrance. “I have bad news and Rosalee? I need your help.”

**X**

When Rosalee heard his plan – a plan Nick had only constructed when climbing out of his car in a daze – she understandably was not a supporter. Bud clearly was with Rosalee on this one, however he could clearly see that Nick was dead set on his mission and would go with or without their aid.

“Rosalee,” Bud said gently, yet with the amazing strength these Eisbiber possessed, “I think Nick is going to Raynor’s house whether we help or not. I don’t like it, but it could work. You’re brilliant at this stuff, so as long as we’re careful…”

Rosalee smiled through her anger, eyes still bright with frustrated tears of her argument with Nick. “Eisbiber are not what the stories make them to be. You’re a bucket full of surprises Bud.” Rosalee fixed Nick with a glare, which made Nick feel guilty but not enough to sway him from his purpose.

“I have a potion that may work. Wait here.”

Rosalee vanished into the back room and down the stairs. Nick waited in silence the weight of Bud’s gaze a reminder of the recklessness of his idea.

Within fifteen minutes Rosalee re-appeared, carrying a tiny crystal vial filled with a blue liquid.

“Smear this liberally on you Nick, especially over your neck and wrists.”

Nick accepted the vial and quickly undid the stopper. A wonderful scent wafted out of the vial, it recalled memories of Monroe to his mind. “It smells like Monroe. So this will hide my scent from the Soul Eaters?”

Rosalee’s mouth thinned and her words were not comforting. “It reminds you of Monroe as that is the potion’s intent. It is meant to conjure up a likeness of the one you love or a friend. For everyone the scent will be different: it tricks the mind. However, it doesn’t last long. You must be out of there within two hours, two and a half at the most.”

“Or?”

“Or your real scent will re-establish itself, not that it will be completely gone in the first place. However, it will dim your normal scent pattern, concealing the Grimm aspect to it and superimposing – in this case – Monroe’s scent.”

“Won’t that be suspicious?”

Rosalee raised an eyebrow. “Monroe needs to have a talk with you regarding mates.”

Nick flushed. How did she know? Bud seemed equally unsurprised. “How did you both know Monroe and I…Wait, mates?”

Bud grinned. “I smelled him on you when visited and whenever you mention Monroe your mood is lighter and has that essence of happiness. I can’t explain it.” Bud shrugged, “And you know, um, you’re very worried now so…it kind of is obvious.”

“But mates…”

Rosalee smiled, compassion gentling her voice as she spoke, “That is obvious as well. But ask Monroe.” Rosalee blinked. “You better go. While you’re gone Bud and I will continue working on our own idea to help you with the Wesen Esser.”

“You’re close?”

“I think so, but we won’t know if it really works until you’re facing them.”

It wasn’t a fantastic response, but Nick accepted it. Facing Bud and Rosalee, who appeared so weary to his eyes, strained from working probably non-stop, actual grief suffused Nick at the knowledge he might not see his friends again, but he had to do this and they **would** be reunited. Hugging them both he quickly doused himself with the blue potion and raced off.

**X**

Monroe eased his cello to one side, securing it carefully before stepping down from the podium where the musicians played in one corner of the room.

It was his break and Monroe had every intention of indulging in a stiff drink. He deserved it, or at least his nerves did, because shit if he wasn’t in the type of trouble where the usual result was death, painless if you were lucky and knowing his luck, not so painless.

Various Wesen filled what once must have been the living room. Monroe contained himself from flinching whenever he was bumped into by one of his fellow Wesen.

They were not the most savoury characters you would ever meet and displaying any type of unease or disgust would have him tortured and killed faster than one could blink. He saw a Lowen teasing a human female mercilessly, the poor creature giggling, too stupid and blinded by lust to comprehend that this cat would play with her like a mouse, until he was bored and finished.

Monroe considered it unlikely that she would be in one piece when that occurred. Alive possibly, but life in tatters.

The fact that no one seemed to die in this sick club was what Monroe found peculiar. Wesen Esser weren’t exactly the purveyors of all that was good and moral in society so why did there appear to be a rule on not slaying any of the occupants that were obviously there in a ‘prey’ capacity?

Restraint was not one of their virtues, yet here as long as actions did not result in death anything went.

Then again, death was not the worst fate by far. Monroe knew that well from his own days when the bloodlust ran rampant. What was most effective is when your victim has suffered from minutes, hours, days, _years_ of constant attack, mental and physical, until all they could do is live in a state of agony and fear – dreading what would happen next.

Developing full-blown psychosis in someone was an art and one the Wesen Esser excelled in.

And here in this club, Raynor and his kin were enjoying those powers to the full, under cover and even luring other Wesen into their games.

Monroe watched as two Blutbaden converged, dancing in the middle of the floor, bodies writhing. Their mouths were open, fangs glistening with saliva and blood as they bit at the other’s throat. Laughter emanated from them as well as growls and the muted grunt as their claws raked over their clothes, tearing the material.

They were nigh to reverting to their animalistic forms – not a brilliant scenario.

No one needed two crazy Blutbaden who had formed a tiny pack of two to suddenly lose their minds and run through Portland lost in a haze of lust and blood. A literal bloodbath of horror would sweep Portland and Raynor would be sitting innocently on the side with no evidence to lead back to him or his companions.

They had to take action quickly. Monroe reached the bar and ordered a beer. As he drank he tried to keep a discreet eye on the patrons without being obvious.

At a table sat a Mauzhertz practising her bloodletting skills, with a knife, on a Jägerbär, both them grinning during the procedure, while a couple of onlookers called out encouragement – seriously disturbing didn’t begin to cover that scene.

“Monroe,” Raynor materialised beside him and Monroe jumped, heart a thundering roar in his ears.

“Yes?” Monroe placed his full attention on Raynor as he had discovered the slight Soul Eater loved attention and wasn’t impressed when someone he was talking to paid heed to anyone else.

Monroe had witnessed what had happened when the focus of a Fuchsbau, Harry, he had been talking to had drifted. Yeah…the sight hadn’t been pretty. Monroe still remembered Harry’s screams. There was a lot Monroe hadn’t divulged to Nick about last night, because he knew that Nick would never let him return if he did.

Raynor smiled, he was beautiful when he did so. His pale blue eyes sparkled as if the sun was shining on a body of water and his face glowed. If you could ignore the anger and sadness hidden under these translucent surfaces of beauty then one could easily be enamoured with the presented visage.

“A human male is here to see you,” Raynor’s voice was melodious and sweet as honey. “He says his name is Nick Burkhardt and that you are his boyfriend? Apparently it is quite urgent?”

Monroe had never ranked himself as a good actor, but he must be, because Raynor didn’t notice the blinding panic and ‘oh we’re fucked’ vibe that Monroe was certainly experiencing.

Maybe his regime was better than he had realised if he could maintain his self-control when hearing that a _freaking Grimm had come to a den full of demon-Wesen and was asking for a Blutbad!_

If they survived Monroe was going to have a serious conversation on the do’s and don’ts of their relationship as this sucked and was not beneficial to Monroe not having a heart-attack.

“Ah…Nick, yes he is my boyfriend. I…uh…told him not to come here unless there was an emergency.”

Raynor tilted his head. “Why isn’t he meant to come?”

“He doesn’t know about me.”

“About Wesen?” Raynor actually looked upset when Monroe confirmed.

“You must tell him,” Raynor reached out and smoothed a hand over Monroe’s vest. A fervent undertone sprang into life as he continued talking, “Do you love him?”

There was no way Monroe could lie, not even if his life depended on it. “Yes, Nick is my world.”

Raynor became agitated, fidgeting and pinning Monroe with burning eyes. “Then you must tell him, before it is too late. Otherwise he’ll find out from someone else or be poisoned against you.”

Raynor waved a hand and a lackey materialised at his side. “Bring Nick here,” he instructed. Returning his attention to Monroe, Raynor seized his shoulders, standing on tip-toe to balance. The stench of madness drowning in despair assailed Monroe’s nostrils and he had to fight not to gag.

“Tell him tonight, or at least mate with him. Are you mates?”

“Monroe?” Nick’s voice broke their exchange and Monroe saw Nick standing to one side with an expression of worry, doubt and wow…jealously.

Raynor released his shoulders and stepped up to Nick actually smiling, if with a demented air. “Good evening Nick, I understand you are Monroe’s boyfriend?”

“Yes,” stressed Nick.

Raynor took no offence and simply laughed. “Excellent news. I was just encouraging Monroe to be open with you. To share himself with you.” Raynor stepped closer, inhaling, as if testing Nick’s story.

Monroe stilled, Wesen Esser could usually tell if they were being lied to and at this close range Raynor was going to know Nick was a Grimm. Claws ready to rend if need be, Monroe prepared for a battle, which never came.

Instead Raynor said, “You smell like him already, that is good and-” he peered at Nick’s throat, “you bear his mark.”

Confused as to how Nick could not smell of Grimm, Monroe allowed his claws to revert to nails.

Nick touched the spot where Monroe’s teeth had broken skin with a fond expression. “Um…yes?”

Raynor moved away grinning at Monroe encouragingly, “A mating bond? You’ve tried initiating one?”

Monroe had to hand it to Nick, he acted innocent. “Mating bond? What’s that? And how can you smell Monroe on me?”

Raynor shrugged. “That’s for Monroe to answer. Now, what brought you here?”

Nick sighed in distress, “A family emergency. Monroe you received a phone call and when I answered the man said he was your father. He said they were coming and might arrive tonight.”

Monroe caught on, pouring worry into his response. “Did you tell them who you were?”

Nick nodded sweetly, “Yes, but I remembered what you told me, that if your family called to come straight away so I did.”

“Your family?” interrupted Raynor, “Do they know Nick isn’t one of us?”

“Yes.”

Raynor actually looked genuinely upset. He grabbed Nick’s arm and dragged him out of the room calling for Monroe to follow. “Do you love Monroe, Nick?”

“Yes,” Raynor inhaled and nodded. A burst of joy exploded in Monroe’s chest, Raynor knew that Nick wasn’t lying and every confirmation that Nick loved him made what they had more real and permanent.

Nick struggled a bit. “Monroe? What’s going on?”

Raynor stopped at a closed door and darted a hand out to snatch Monroe’s vest in his slim fingers. “If you truly love him then form a mating bond, ere it is too late. Your family will not be pleased I think, since you warned Nick here.”

Raynor’s eyes were wide, frantic and as they held Monroe’s they shimmered and went a vivid green. “Don’t lose him to others as I lost…” Raynor trembled, words stumbling to a stop and fuck was he crying?

Monroe was bewildered. Why would a Wesen Esser weep over the loss of a human? He could see Nick was equally shocked and troubled.

Monroe hesitantly curled his hand over a shoulder that felt thin and deceptively weak. Raynor seemed to draw comfort and righted himself.

His voice still wobbled, but determination blazed through them. “As I lost Stefan. Tell Nick who you are and form a mating bond.” Raynor slipped from Monroe’s grasp and used a key to open the door.

A room was revealed, a bed situated along the wall on their right. “Here, use this room. I was going to use it for Stefan.”

Brushing a hand over his face Raynor nodded briskly at them and waited. Knowing they had no choice Monroe put a hand on the small of Nick’s back and guided him into the bedroom.

“Good luck,” was Raynor’s parting as he closed the door and retreated.

In the darkness Monroe watched Nick, neither speaking.

**X**

Nick moved first, stepping right inside Monroe’s personal space. Monroe knew his eyes were glowing red. It was probably the only real source of light Nick had.

Hands, calloused from a life devoted to protecting people, cupped his face.

“What is a mating bond Monroe? Are we safe for the moment?” Nick’s voice was quiet yet conveyed fear, but also relief at seeing Monroe alive.

Monroe embraced Nick, one hand sliding up to cradle Nick’s head, “First, tell me why you are here and how you smell like me.”

Nick shivered, “Rosalee gave me a potion that would cover my scent for a maximum of two hours, I estimate I have about an hour and a half left. Anyway, I was talking to Stefan’s priest and he described Raynor’s friends as having the same evil aura. I realised there had to be more than one Wesen Esser in town.”

Trepidation leeched into Nick’s scent, “Have you seen…?”

Monroe dislodged Nick’s hands as he lent forward, pressing their foreheads together to grant them both comfort.

“Yes,” he said, “I came face to face with them when I arrived. I almost fainted right then man, I’m not embarrassed to admit it.”

Nick groaned, “If it was difficult before it is going to be-”

“Hell, quite literally, Nick. You should see the clientele of this place. There’s enough to keep the local asylum busy for decades and you know, transforming Portland into Hell’s own battlefield.”

Nick absentmindedly brushed a couple of fingers through his beard.

“We’ll need help.”

“Yes.”

“But from where? Rosalee said she and Bud were close to figuring out a weapon that might help us.”

“We’ll have to figure out the help later, but first..”

“The mating bond?”

Monroe licked his lips and found himself being kissed by Nick for his efforts. Feeling braver, Monroe ventured an explanation, “A mating bond is when two people are not simply in love, but are the perfect complement to each other. It is when your very soul calls out to this one person. They are the answering echo to your cry in the night.”

Monroe kissed Nick, trying to communicate his very important point. “In musical terms it is like a brilliant violinist being granted a Stradivarius, the best violinin the world ever made, to play on. You trust each other more than anyone else, this one person balances you out and for reasons beyond words simply are meant for you.”

“I’m that to you? Rosalee and Bud said we are mates,” Nick’s nervousness affected Monroe. Nick should never doubt this.

“Yes, you are my mate. I have never marked anyone like I have done you, never been saved by anyone else. You shook me from my quiet life and dragged me into the world to assist others, to use my new Wieder status as a power for good. When I’m with you it is easier. I can breathe. I don’t feel on the verge of losing it and Woging out and going on a killing spree. My regime is not so tenuous and when I work on my clocks they are better than when I was alone.”

Monroe closed his eyes, tears escaping. “Whether you feel like my mate is for you to say.”

Nick suddenly yanked himself away before pushing his head under Monroe’s chin to kiss and lick at his throat, over the area where he too had bitten.

“Of course I’m your mate Monroe. I’ve entered a fighting ring to fight with you, even if it meant dying. Monroe…on your nod I believed that Ian was a member of this Wesen resistance and helped him escape. Fuck Monroe, when you went running in the woods to lead the police dogs away when they were searching for Larry…my entire world was hanging by a thread. If you hadn’t returned I would have lost it. I even moved Larry, because all I could think of was how it would affect you. I couldn’t allow my colleagues to arrest you. You’re the only one who understood me the first time we met and when I said we were always outsiders? When I’m with you that sensation is nowhere to be found.”

Teeth grazed his throat and Monroe growled. “When Juliette demanded I spent less time with you my world was shattered and I knew then how unfair I was being, because there was no chance of me willingly decreasing my hours with you. It was unfair to do that to Juliette so I chose you.”

Nick gasped and met Monroe’s lips. “We’re mates Monroe.”

Joy and pleasure erupted all over Monroe and he could barely believe his fortune. He had found his mate and his mate loved him back. Wanting to feel, wanting to surrender to the desire shimmering inside, to seal the bond Monroe caught Nick in bruising kiss.

For a blissful minute their lips duelled, tongues sliding against each other, arms tight to the edge of pain.

As they broke for oxygen Nick breathed, “A mating bond?”

“Will be the confirmation of our love Nick; when mates join in a mating bond they are mates for life and will be connected even more so. I’ve heard that mates can feel each other, maybe share dreams and such.”

“Why would Raynor want that for us?”

The reminder of why they were here was effective in halting Monroe’s desire for the present.

“Whenever Raynor speaks of Stefan he bleeds grief all over the place. Before you were escorted to me, Raynor was interrogating me. The second he discovered that I loved you and that you didn’t know I was a Blutbad he became agitated.”

Monroe sighed, “He starting acting distressed and insisting that I had to tell you before it was too late, or that other people in our lives would lead you astray, poison your mind and make you turn your back on me so when I did tell you…”

“What?”

“You’d be repulsed I should imagine.”

“Life Stefan,” murmured Nick, his voice became excited and contemplative. “Ruth started sowing doubt and when Raynor revealed his form to Stefan, he became frightened and ran?”

Monroe frowned, “Possibly, but you heard Raynor. He was planning to do something similar to Stefan in this room as we are.”

“A mating bond? Nick titled his head. “That sounds like he loved Stefan.”

“Doubtful, more like his toy escaped and got broken – and not by him.”

Nick however, appeared convinced that wasn’t strictly true. “Are you sure?”

“Demons and Wesen Esser are incapable of love, Nick. They live for the joy of twisting human and Wesen alike into demented versions of themselves…and if that includes physical torture, inflicted on their victim or by their victim on others, especially on loved ones, all the better.”

Nick brushed their noses together, “Yet, Raynor you say – and I witnessed – was acting pretty devastated when speaking of Stefan, similar to how a human or ordinary Wesen might grieve when having lost someone they love.”

Monroe didn’t want to shatter Nick’s illusions, he really thought the best in everyone, thank goodness Nick had him, but he had to reinsert reality, “Or maybe the obsession Raynor was working on Stefan backfired and Raynor fell into obsession with Stefan?”

His suggestion was radical and out-of-this world, Monroe knew that, as no tale about any Soul Eater he had heard indicated such a thing was possible.

“You mean, Stefan worked an obsession on Raynor?” Nick was as incredulous as Monroe’s hypothesis deserved.

“Perhaps, more likely than a demon-Wesen falling into love.”

Nick snorted, but then asked, “How did Raynor know of the mating bond and would he have enacted a similar bond with Stefan?”

“I definitely don’t want to know how a Wesen Esser would establish a mating bond, so it’s fortunate that Stefan escaped, because I don’t think his soul would stand a shot at Heaven if they had bonded,” Monroe said.

“Certain Wesen can _see_ mating bonds or the potential for them, between beings. Raynor could sense we were truthful in our love for each other and I think saw the potential for the bond, before we admitted it to ourselves.”

“Can you see it?” Nick sounded wistful.

“When we complete the mating bond for the first time we’ll both see it firm into place.”

Nick froze then hissed, “What are we waiting for?”

“We can’t finalise the bond as it uh..involves…” Monroe stumbled to pause, nervous and excited.

“What does it involve?” pressed Nick.

“Knotting, I know you may find that repulsive but it somehow ties us together body and soul – I can’t explain it, no one really can and-”

Nick stopped his rambling, with a hand over his mouth. “Knotting? Like as in wolves?”

“Yes.”

Monroe’s nose twitched as the distinct odour of desire hit him.

Nick swallowed. “I don’t think that is going to be a problem, Monroe. Apparently I have kinks I never knew about and on top of that am a possessive bastard, because once you’ve knotted me you won’t ever leave me right?”

“Yes.” A one-word answer was all Monroe was capable of through his shock.

Nick chuckled, “Er…well, you owe me a knotting session, but in the meantime,” Nick tugged on Monroe. “How about we enjoy a quick session as a promise and not to alarm Raynor?”

Monroe wondered how he picked the one Grimm that not only loved and wanted him, but matched a Blutbad in possessiveness.

However, such considerations faded from his mind as he guided Nick to the bed, switching on a small lamp as they went so Nick had some illumination.

Then it was a tangle of limbs as hands pulled clothes off and then were sliding over precious skin.

Monroe growled as Nick’s pale skin was revealed and he could mark it with his teeth and leave a trail of beard burn over Nick’s stomach. His mate arched and moaned as he licked the underside of Nick’s cock.

The musky taste of man and the scent of Nick’s passion were heady aromas for Monroe and he battled to stay in control. Nick’s hands in his hair were anchors to reality, Nick already anticipating his needs.

Into the broiling pot of passion Monroe dove as he lapped and sucked, cradling Nick’s balls in one hand as the other traced Nick’s entrance. The lube he found stashed in the bedside drawer was far more precious than gold as he used it liberally to stretch, Nick whimpering and moaning.

Grunts fell into the hot room from Nick, “More Monroe, faster, just fuck me already!”

Later Monroe would recall the overwhelming squeeze of Nick’s internal muscles as he pushed inside and how it was as if the fiery clutch of Nick’s body was burning him whole.

The push and pull was terrific, Nick’s sweat was delicious as he lapped it off Nick’s chest and up to his throat, which Nick bared without care.

In the dim light Monroe saw the challenge and trust. Did Monroe dare mark his mate? Lose a touch of his fabled control?

Nick trusted him enough to do so.

Rising to the challenge, Monroe let his fangs drop and bit down just as his body tensed and he flooded Nick’s inside with his semen. Nick howled, digging his nails into Monroe’s back, marking Monroe in his own fashion.

Monroe tasted blood as his orgasm swept through his body, mind swarming with pleasure. Releasing Nick’s tender flesh, he met his mate’s lips in a bloodied exchange.

“Monroe,” panted Nick.

“I know,” said Monroe. Exhausted, he gently withdrew and lay down beside Nick, treasuring the last few minutes they had alone.

**X**

Nick drew up to his apartment with a grin etched on his face. He had not long ago left Monroe in Raynor’s house and he could quite happily feel the burn of Monroe’s actions as he exited the car and locked it. They had decided it would be wise for Nick to return to his apartment so the charade of Monroe’s family returning would have weight – after all, Monroe wouldn’t send his mate home alone, defenceless against Blutbaden.

Hence he was here.

He was still dismayed that they had more than one Soul Eater to fight, but Raynor had appeared in a good mood once they had reappeared, so Nick took that as a bonus.

As he crossed to the door of the apartment block, Nick noticed one of his neighbours, (whom he hadn’t met in person), also approaching the door. In that instant Nick saw her Woge.

Startled Nick blinked, then tried acting casual. Only a Grimm would have noticed that flash of change, so he pretended to be checking on his car one last time as he glanced over his shoulder.

There, in the dark shadows, across the yawning road, stood a figure. In the poor light Nick could have sworn that it was Raynor, but shrugged it off. When he next chanced a look the figure had vanished between one blink and the next.

A heavy weight settled on Nick. The night was abruptly hushed, even the distant noise of cars had faded.

Trying to convince himself it hadn’t been Raynor Nick sprinted inside, rushing up to his apartment and slamming the door shut.

Whoever it had been watching him from the shadows would have seen Nick notice a Wesen Woge.

They would know he was a Grimm.

**X**

It was late morning when Monroe finally reached his home. He was shattered, but Raynor had kept him until late.

Raynor had disappeared at one point, but Monroe thought nothing of it – it was preferable to Raynor breathing down his neck.

Now though he was relieved to be home and eager to see Nick.

They had planned on Nick first heading to his place in case anyone checked, but once morning arrived to come back to Monroe’s.

However, Monroe couldn’t smell Nick. Admittedly, his mate’s scent was all over the place, but it wasn’t fresh. Alarmed, Monroe checked outside, as Nick’s car wasn’t parked outside either.

Monroe had been hoping that maybe he had taken a taxi.

Nothing.

Dread began to spread through Monroe and the nagging feeling that something was very wrong reared its head.

Trying to suppress the first stirrings of panic Monroe decided to drive over to Nick’s apartment.

When ten minutes later Monroe was standing in Nick’s living area with no sign of Nick, he permitted the panic he had been feeling to leap into full being.

The reason was simple: there was no disturbance. In fact, everything was as it should be, except one thing.

Monroe inhaled, closing his eyes as tears threatened.

The scent of sulphur and death lingered.

The hallmarks of a Soul Eater; Nick had been taken, most likely by Raynor.

Collapsing onto the carpet Monroe buried his head into his hands, blaming himself. He had allowed his mate to leave alone and somehow Raynor had followed, his disappearance now made sense, and discovered that Nick was a Grimm.

A fury that Monroe had never experienced, even when he hadn’t been a Wieder Blutbad, started burning in his gut, eating into his soul.

He wouldn’t let Raynor destroy Nick.

He would find Nick and end Raynor before that occurred. Remembering what Nick had said last night, Monroe calmly rose.

He couldn’t permit his full nature to surface as Nick would never forgive him if he hurt innocents. Yet, he could – and would – leave a path of destruction consisting of Wesen Esser.

**X**

Half a day passed while Monroe worked on unearthing a way he could not only find Nick, but also save him and ensure they surfaced from the encounter alive.

Each hour was a torment to Monroe, yet he knew that with Nick’s life in the balance that haste now could lead to death. His sole consolation was that Raynor’s companions were not in on the scheme.

Hank, who had been bewildered when Monroe showed up on his doorstep saying that Nick had been taken by Raynor, had eventually been persuaded that informing their police colleagues would be a bad idea.

To do this, Monroe had had to reveal more than he wished or had time for. He had spent time  emphasising the supernatural aspects of Hank’s encounter and came clean regarding his own role in slipping into Raynor’s house as a cellist.

Hank had not been impressed and only relented in his exclamations that both he and Nick were idiots when Monroe had said, “I saw their eyes turn green. I saw Raynor use strength beyond his appearance to hurt a... a man.” No good in telling too much for the present.

That confession had silenced Hank, especially when Monroe hinted at the ‘unnatural’ powers associated with this case and that Raynor had abducted Nick without any sign of a struggle.

It had taken a good argument, but Hank was a reasonable and intelligent man. He didn’t argue with facts and so far Monroe’s story matched his own experiences, so he clearly elected to trust in Monroe’s words.

Therefore, Hank had agreed to help. He quietly checked the locations of Raynor’s friends and confirmed they were still in their houses. He managed to stave off any questions from these Wesen Esser and any nosy cops by saying it was part of protocol to check the surrounding area in which Stefan may have passed through.

Relieved, Monroe focused on his own affairs while Rosalee and Bud worked frantically to refine their work.

Finally he received the call he had been aching for and rushed to Rosalee’s shop.

“Well?” Monroe strode in, without bothering to greet the two tired workers. “Do you have it?”

“Them,” corrected Rosalee. She was shattered, dark smudges were under her eyes, her mouth was slack with exhaustion. She pushed back hair that resembled a bush; evidently she hadn’t even stopped to brush her hair.

Bud appeared no better. His shoulders were low, face creased and his hands were stained, scratches from an implement scoring the flesh.

Two very heady scents hung thickly in the air causing Monroe to cough and sneeze.

Rosalee led him to her work table. Five cloth bundles, three vials full of a murky solution and an array of metal canisters were laid out in neat rows.

Bud picked up a canister. “This contains a volatile mixture,” he said, voice shaking a tad. From weariness or fear of Monroe, he couldn’t say. “We put gunpowder and into that mixed ground frankincense and myrrh.”

Rosalee gently touched a package that was wrapped in paper. Monroe could now narrow down the scent to the sweet aroma that signalled frankincense and from the other package the remnants of myrrh with a piney perfume.

“Bud hit upon the idea first. While Soul Eaters aren’t their immaterial demon cousins, they are still essentially demons, just a flesh and blood kind. If frankincense and myrrh are used in religious celebrations to purify and worship and also used to assist in healing and aiding mediation, then why not use them against Wesen Esser who symbolise the opposite?”

Monroe frowned, leery of permitting hope just yet, “What about their magical abilities?”

Bud gently indicated the canister he had, “These are used in spiritual worship as Rosalee said and to open you up to the uh…’spiritual world’ around you.”

“So,” said Rosalee, hope in her voice, “if frankincense and myrrh are associated with magical properties there must have been a reason and many, not just the religious, use these plants for attaining a higher spiritual level.”

Monroe was beginning to understand, “And since they are mainly associated with goodness then this could be anathema to a demon-Wesen who symbolises hate, suffering and death?”

“Yes, we hope that it will interfere with Raynor’s magical powers.”

“But don’t count on it?”

Bud blinked, voice quivering, “No, but it is our best shot. We used holy water to dampen the cloth bundles. This canister will explode when lit and thrown. Use it disrupt whatever Raynor is doing.”

Rosalee picked up a vial. “This is to use in the Doppelarmbrust you have. I don’t want to know how you have a Grimm weapon designed to be used against Blutbaden, but, use this solution for the bolts. It will deliver a combination of a water solution in which we boiled frankincense and myrrh and then added holy water. With luck it will be poison to Raynor.”

Monroe grinned, “Perfect.”  He eyed the bundles. “What are they for?”

“They’ll burn like incense in church and will purify the air, making it difficult for Raynor to focus,” said Rosalee quietly. She looked at him. “We could fetch help.”

“It’ll arrive too late.”

Monroe fumbled in his pocket and drew out two envelopes. “Here,” he said handing one each to Bud and Rosalee, “Thank you for your help, but if it goes wrong open these letters. Rosalee, yours will tell you where Nick and I keep his Grimm stuff – pass it on to the next Grimm if you can, I think I tracked down one in a city not far away. Ask my priest for more information.”

Monroe faced Bud. “Yours is everything about the case so far. Show it to Hank, both of you will have to tell Hank all of it: the Wesen, me and Nick. Then run for your lives, find help. Other Grimms, other Wesen, anyone who will be of assistance.”

Bud clutched the letter. “We will Monroe. We won’t fail you or Nick. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Monroe glanced at Rosalee and smiled weakly, “I have to do this, he is my mate.”

Rosalee wiped her cheeks, “Yes, I know, Monroe. Bud and I will hold the fort and call Hank. I’ve already contacted your church and your priest seems to think there is someone who will come.”

Rosalee helped him ready himself then whispered, “Good luck” ere silently slipping away.

Grimly Monroe hauled up his backpack, shouldered the cross-bow and set out to retrieve Nick.

**X**

Nick tried the windows yet again, but with no luck. Whatever was keeping them shut was stronger than any clasp or glue.

Frustrated and attempting not to lose his nerve Nick, watched as the last of the daylight ebbed away. Darkness fell and the forest outside lay in an eerie hush. Moonlight filtered through the treetops to illuminate how isolated Nick was.

He had the horrible feeling he might end up like Miss Lockmore.

As he slumped to the ground the door swung open to reveal Raynor. Any thought of dashing past the demon perished as the door clicked shut.

A ghostly green light suffused the room as Raynor strode over to him. He appeared hardly alive himself, skin pale as snow, eyes practically translucent.

“Hello Nick, or to be more honest, hello Grimm,” Raynor’s voice was clipped, anger bubbling under the placid surface he presented.

Nick decided to answer calmly, without evidence of his churning fear. “No, I prefer the name Nick. After all, Grimm is my profession just as Wesen Esser is your profession right? To destroy peoples’ souls.”

Raynor’s eyes narrowed and his aura suddenly pressed around Nick, heavy and suffocating. Nick panted as he felt the air being driven from his chest.

“Yours appear to be trapping innocent Blutbaden into falling in love with you and then killing them.”

Nick wheezed, astonishment making him force out words, “You…are…angry that…I…love…a…Blutbad?”

Raynor’s laughter sent chills down Nick’s spine for it was cold and high, no warmth at all. It recalled the coldness and emptiness of a graveyard to Nick.

“A Grimm love a Blutbad? That is not possible.”

Nick glared up at Raynor, into features that were twisted with anger. “You…saw the potential…of…our mating…bond.”

“You did not complete one and now I know why.”

“Because we…didn’t…have…time.”

“No, because you are a Grimm and only wish to kill Monroe. Never mind, I shan’t let him suffer like I have, I’ll stop this before it is too late.”

Nick remembered his debate with Monroe and on impulse spat out, “Like you…have…with…Stefan?”

The presence withdrew and Nick fell onto his side curling into a foetal position as he fought for breath. Eventually he could breathe without pain and looked up to see Raynor examining him with barely concealed wrath.

Yet in his emerald eyes – Raynor had part transformed – was grief.

Nick forged ahead. “You loved him didn’t you? You wanted to mate with him, trigger a mating bond, but he saw what you really were and fled for his life. So, did you kill him in anger? Cause him to run in front of the oncoming car?” Nick guessed that wasn’t the scenario, but he had to find out.

However, goading a fraught demon-Wesen was not a good tactic.

Nick screamed as his skin tore and flesh was ripped. Blood pooled between his legs as the inside of his thighs bled. Raynor hadn’t moved an inch, simply extending a clawed, _shit_ , hand to dole out the damage.

Squeezing his hands over the wounds to try and staunch the flow Nick hissed, “Must be true then, since you reacted so violently.”

Raynor shrieked and if Nick hadn’t cared about bleeding to death he would have covered his ears at the sound.

“I would never harm Stefan! That bitch of a wife haunted his hours when parted from me and his stupid priest filled his head with tales of evil and sin!”

Raynor fell to his knees in front of Nick and caressed his face with claws that curved. His skin was slowly leeching into a greyish colour, teeth elongating to razor points. Nick felt the sting as the claws drew droplets of blood on his cheeks and nose.

When he spoke again, Raynor’s voice was a mockery of honeyed-sweetness. “Just like you they bedazzled him with their faith, their admonitions that our fun was immoral. They hunted poor Stefan until he was edged with doubt. I didn’t realise how strong their filth was until he ran from me. I would never have harmed him, but he fell through my grasp ere I could reason with him. I would have given him _everything_.”

Nick coughed, spitting out the crimson life that flowed down his face and over his lips. “I’m not like them Raynor, I want to give Monroe everything too.”

Raynor titled his head, considering then raised a hand. The bleeding stopped. Shuddering at how close he was to dying, though he wasn’t out of the deep end yet, Nick wiped bloody hands on his shirt. He didn’t touch his face, fearing what he would find.

“You are persistent in declaring that you love Monroe.” Raynor rose and paced, ere turning to meet his gaze. “If you truly love Monroe then leave me be Grimm. I must undertake my revenge upon Ruth and Father Mark.”

Nick shook his head as he stood, legs still throbbing from the injury they had sustained. “I can’t allow that Raynor, I am a Grimm still.”

Raynor assessed him and Nick saw the second that Raynor called him enemy once more. His entire appearance transformed and he Woged.

Behind Raynor a great dark mass stretched out, blocking the green light. It took the shape of two massive wings so huge that Nick understood they couldn’t be real, but were representations through Raynor’s magic.

Raynor was now taller, muscular and skin completely grey. The stench of decay and sulphur was pungent. Into this Nick watched in horror as Raynor raised arms and began to chant.

The words twisted in Nick’s mind, forbidding in their purpose. Raynor’s presence smouldered, stamping its essence into the very fabric of reality. As his words carried on Nick saw the air begin to rend, and a portal coalesce, so that amid the green light a black yawning cavern hung.

From it echoed horrible cries and something began to climb out.

Eyes that blazed red in an otherwise shapeless form pierced the room, staring directly at Nick, conveying a message that induced a terror deep within Nick’s soul. Malicious intent reached out ahead of this form, mingling with Raynor’s aura so that the atmosphere itself became saturated with the echoes of souls in torment and a pressure so intense Nick felt he had sunk to the bottom of the ocean and the weight of the waters were crushing the life out of him.

Nick gasped as breathing once more became strenuous. Coldness penetrated deep and this shapeless creature whispered words in accord with Raynor. A sickness entered him. Whatever that was, it intended to destroy him, devour him. Worse, take his soul to Hell. Terrified Nick scrambled back desperately thinking about how he could stop Raynor.

In his haste he dislodged the image of the Archangel Michael.

Raynor’s curious gaze fell on it and he stuttered into silence.

Hope sprung into life and Nick snatched the card and brandished at Raynor. “Maybe Ruth and Father Mark weren’t far off the track Raynor. Maybe Stefan’s faith caused him to realise what you really are and he escaped while his immortal soul still had a chance at Heaven. Nothing good should fear an angel.”

Raynor snapped, Nick watched as the last vestiges of sanity vanished in a roar of agony and grief.

Nick shut his eyes and repeated the verse on the card.

The roar was cut off and wondering what was next Nick opened them to see a bolt shaft protruding through Raynor’s right shoulder.

Raynor’s skin reverted to a sickly white, his wings shrank and the portal collapsed in on itself, dragging the creature with it, howling in outrage, deafening Nick momentarily, as he turned to face this new attack.

Monroe stood with the Doppelarmbrust in his arms. His face was wolfed out.

Raynor whimpered, covering his nose as he asked, “What is that stench?”

Nick could smell it now too.

“Frankincense and myrrh,” replied Monroe with satisfaction. “They are used in worship and purification and apparently as a Wesen Esser deterrent.”

Raynor snarled and pried the bolt from his shoulder. He whispered some words and the air around Monroe seemed to become solid, trapping Monroe’s legs.

“Oooo…a mistake to go for the legs little demon.” Monroe swiftly raised the crossbow and fired again, hitting a confused Raynor. “You really should have gone for my arms first.”

Raynor shrieked again. His wings flickered into existence again, but Nick now guessed Raynor’s weakness. “He says that he loved Stefan. Looks like you were wrong Monroe.”

Monroe sneered, “Loved? Obsessed more like.”

Raynor forgot summoning his powers in favour of rending flesh with his own bare hands. Howling he flung himself at Monroe only to discover how weakened he was by the bolts.

“Oh yeah,” panted Monroe as he wrestled Raynor, freed from his bonds, “Those bolts had good old frankincense and myrrh with holy water. Wondered if those would work, looks like it’s another winner.”

Clearly alarmed and seemingly fearful for the first time in this encounter, Raynor fell back snarling. He ripped the second bolt free only to lose his footing. Gasping on the floor he appeared to be trying to Woge out again.

Nick took a chance and standing, ran to Monroe. The minute he reached Monroe, his mate pulled a cloth bag out, plus a canister. He lit both, threw them and they hit Raynor. Nick squeezed his eyes shut at the screams.

“He’s departing,” yelled Monroe over the sudden wind. “Going somewhere else, I don’t think he can return, not for a while at least. I hit him good and there is poison flowing through his system now.”

Nick felt Monroe pick him up and carry him away through the tumult.

Shaken by events, remembering his personal glimpse into one doorway to Hell, Nick sank into the arms cradling him, welcoming safety.

**X**

In the days that proceeded Nick rested as he healed.

His physical wounds had healed when Raynor had healed the injury himself, but the mental scars lingered. For three nights Nick woke screaming recalling how demented Raynor had looked near the end. He relived the crushing despair when he understood that the creature crawling out of the tear in reality was most probably an actual demon summoned to take Nick to Hell.

Even when the sun shone bright and strong Nick would occasionally slide into memories of that room, where Raynor had displayed the fearsome power of his kind, the Soul Eaters. Nick still could hear Raynor’s yells as Monroe’s weapons began devouring him.

He would never forget Raynor’s obsession with Stefan and no matter what Monroe said, Nick thought that perhaps, there had been love in Raynor.

What they couldn’t deny was that a demon-Wesen met his match in Stefan and in working an obsession on this human, the obsession had reverberated back onto its caster. Whether it was love or not, Raynor had cared for Stefan and through that, wrecked more damage than probably initially plotted.

He often wondered upon the ‘stroke of ‘luck’ that had permitted Monroe to find him. Monroe had said that he would have passed the clearing where the house that Nick was in resided,  as the scent led further on and away, only looping around to arrive too late. Yet, he had turned from the trail when a breeze that wasn’t present before carried Nick’s scent, intense and screaming for attention. The breeze in the tree-tops seemed to whisper to him to run for his life and so he had, heeding the warning and his instincts.

From the timing Nick hazarded he had been praying, asking for Michael’s aid.

Truly, there were more things in Heaven and Earth than anyone could account for.

With these brooding considerations Nick spent his days and nights resting, recovering from an ordeal that many would have wound up institutionalised. 

It was on the day of the full moon that Nick finally felt his pall of torment lift. He would remember forever what he had experienced, but for the first time since his ordeal Nick felt his spirits restored.

He wanted to live and no longer recoil at the shadows.

He wanted to show Monroe how much he loved him and Monroe to show how much he loved Nick.

He wanted to be with his mate.

He wanted to fulfil the mating bond.

Knowing that Monroe would be hesitant, fearing that Nick might be fragile, Nick planned as the day ticked by.

Thus, when Monroe returned home from delivering a clock and an amused Rosalee departed, winking in confidence, Nick was ready.

“Nick?” Monroe stood frozen in the entrance, gaping. “What are you wearing?”

Nick faked innocence. “What? This?” He plucked at his hoodie. “It’s wonderful isn’t it Monroe? Nice and soft to the touch.”

“But the colour,” spluttered Monroe, licking his lips.

“Oh, don’t you like red? I thought it was your favourite colour?”

“Yes! But wearing it isn’t such a hot idea!”

“Really? What a shame, I’ll have to find another Blutbad who likes me wearing red and wishes to knot with me.” Nick strolled up to Monroe and kissed him. “See you around Monroe.”

Then smugly Nick dashed outside. He had just reached the trees opposite Monroe’s house when he heard an offended howl and the sound of Monroe giving chase.

Thrilled, Nick raced through the trees, sparing a single glance over his shoulder to glimpse Monroe, Woged out, darting through the trees.

Nick put on speed but he didn’t wish to run for long as he had waited too long for this event.

His breath whistled in and out, the crunch of twigs underneath was loud in the otherwise quiet wood. Nick ducked under branches and jumped in time to avoid being tripped by over friendly foliage.

It was as he rounded a tree that a heavy weight slammed into him and bore him to the ground. They rolled, Nick utilising all their training techniques so that when they stopped, Nick was underneath Monroe and they were in a clearing.

Monroe gazed at him with features wolfen. Nick loved Monroe in whatever form he chose. Reverently he traced the fur on Monroe’s face, across his brow, down his cheeks and to his beard which was scraggier than normal.

Gently he rested his fingers on Monroe’s lips, “I love you Monroe, even like this.” Leaning up so that they weren’t parted a centimetre, Nick licked Monroe’s fangs then kissed him deeply, tongues duelling.

After a moment Nick pulled away and shifted, twisting until he was on his stomach. “I want this Monroe,” he said. Nick had to make Monroe understand. “I want this mating bond. Just do it, I’m ready.”

Growling Monroe pushed up and Nick felt him hurriedly pulling down Nick’s trousers – Nick had worn elastic ones, determined not to impede progress.

Monroe bit gently at his tailbone and Nick sighed.

“My knot will be large Nick and might be painful.” Monroe sounded so worried that Nick’s heart wanted to burst with affection.

“All prepared for that Monroe, why don’t you feel? Also check my hoodie pocket.”

Monroe’s hand did so and he groaned when he found the lube. He groaned even louder as his spare hand traced a path to Nick entrance and dipped inside.

Nick smiled.

“You frustrating Grimm. You’re slick!”

“Just wanted to keep things simple for my Blutbad mate. Now get a move on. Some of us wish to be mated.”

Monroe growled, but did as bid. Nick heard the snap of the tube and the appealing sound of Monroe rubbing the lube over his cock.

A moment later Monroe was over him again, chest pressed along Nick’s back, the weight reassuring, warmth sinking into Nick.

A mouth closed over the back his neck and Nick felt the tentative swipe. “Bite away,” he breathed, granting permission.

Monroe growled, moist air hitting his sensitive flesh. As he hungrily sucked at the flesh, Nick felt the blunt tip of Monroe against his entrance and then Monroe was pushing inside, large and hot.

The stretch was amazing, it burned yet granted pleasure as Monroe filled him up. Nick had never realised that the thought of Monroe’s girth filling him, pushing relentlessly inside until it fit so snugly that Nick considered it an integral part of himself, would be so exhilarating but it was.

Panting for breath Nick immediately shoved back, grunting in satisfaction as Monroe releases his mouthful to snarl ere he began a brutal pace.

Nick rode it out dizzily happy when Monroe wrapped one arm around his belly because being held in a tight embrace let Nick know that Monroe had him and would never let go.

Monroe thrust in with all his strength, causing Nick to brace himself, the sparks of pleasure up his spine were magnificent and Nick’s cock was hot and heavy, but Nick refused to come until Monroe knotted him.

Therefore, he drove back as much as he could, whining at the loss, the aching emptiness as Monroe briefly pulled out, until he thrust in again, seeking his home in Nick.

Monroe’s teeth bit through his skin, lapping at blood and Nick hissed and when Monroe eased up he turned his head to kiss Nick. Nick tasted his own blood and groaned. In delicious retribution he teased at Monroe’s lips until they were bruised.

Nick became aware of Monroe slowing slightly and was about to demand why when he stilled. Monroe was growing, expanding inside Nick’s body like Nick was plasticine that could be moulded around Monroe.

The heat and strain were terrific and Nick, panting, allowed his head to drop back onto Monroe’s shoulder. Closing his eyes he whimpered, part in passion, part in pain.

It was awesome yet scary. Nick held on as Monroe’s cock pushed at his delicate walls, forcing them to accept his building growth. Nick could feel Monroe’s knot and it was the best thing he had ever experienced.

The heat within Nick exploded as Monroe started coming, semen splashing Nick’s walls. Stretched around Monroe’s girth, Nick howled. It was pleasure, it was pain and it was a _live wire being snapped into life inside Nick’s head and soul_.

All of a sudden Monroe’s presence was a tangible thing that Nick could somehow touch, prod and revel in. Monroe’s pleasure at being inside Nick was astonishing: delight at the manner in which Nick was stretched around him, how vulnerable Nick was spread and fastened on his cock and how much Nick trusted and loved him to do this.

It made Nick orgasm as he cried out as he painted his hoodie and the ground underneath.

As Nick descended from his orgasm he felt Monroe stop growing and lock himself inside Nick. The fullness and how it filled his belly, making him hot and wonderfully swollen with Monroe’s seed, made Nick open his eyes so he could see Monroe.

The words died on his tongue. In the light of the moon, which shone with an ethereal blue glow that Nick couldn’t explain, Nick saw their mating bond.

A golden nimbus surrounded them both, glowing so brightly that Nick was floored. The light whispered of all that was good in the world, conjuring emotions of kindness, a yearning to protect, but not to hamper each other and of understanding. Most of all Nick was caught in a web of pure love that he knew emanated from Monroe and from him.

Monroe met his gaze and smiled. Easing them to the ground he rasped, “The mating bond is complete.”

Nick curled against Monroe savouring the heat, the love and the fullness in belly and ass.

They still had Wesen Esser to hunt and destroy, but for the moment it was just Monroe and him, mates fashioning their bond.

 

**_= Finis =_ **

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A final note – the prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel is one that Catholics do use. The wording changes slightly here and there, but the main part stays the same, as does the request contained within the wording and the intent of the one who prays. 
> 
> A couple of links for those interested:
> 
> 1.) http://www.ourcatholicprayers.com/the-saint-michael-prayer.html  
> 2.) http://www.traditioninaction.org/religious/b009rpMichael.htm
> 
> \- Concerning the use of German in my story, I apologise for any mistakes. My reasoning behind using Wesen Esser to denote ‘Soul Eater’ is thus:
> 
> Soul – When searching for German words meaning ‘soul’, _Wesen_ was among them (for example, http://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/english-german/soul ) In the end Wesen sounded the best, so I chose it for ‘Soul’.
> 
> Eater – ‘Esser’ immediately popped up, (http://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/english-german/eater)
> 
> I put both together to obtain _**Wesen Esser (Soul Eater)**_ and did not alter any word endings as my command of German is pretty much non-existent – it has been a very long time since I did German in secondary school!


End file.
